


Hamlet and the Pirates

by eight_0f_hearts



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Complete, F/M, Shakespeare, slow build Captain Swan!, tw emotional abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-08
Updated: 2014-03-23
Packaged: 2018-01-11 14:46:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 73,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1174342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eight_0f_hearts/pseuds/eight_0f_hearts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a miraculous feat of Murphy's Law, Emma ends up paired with Killian Jones for an English project - one of the few people at her school that she really, genuinely Does Not Like. It doesn't help that Neal's back in town. </p><p> </p><p>  <i>He grinned at her. “I guarantee you will fall for me by the time this project is complete.”</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Solid

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not American and know bugger all about the high school system there - so hopefully this will still be understandable! Hehe :)
> 
> For the purposes of AU-ing this, some character relationships have been changed (ie David isn't Emma's Dad, etc). All will become clear.

 When it came down to it, it was all Neal's fault, really.

His return came as a rude shock amidst a fairly typical Monday night for Emma. Her life had been swimming merrily along – school, netball practice, study session at Mary Margaret's house followed by dinner at home and retreating to her room in order to leisurely browse the internet for updates on the world. And then _bam!_ Neal popped up, his presence as shockingly violating as suddenly finding a rancid green chip in an otherwise sublime packet of pringles.

It was a friend of a friend who had shared the photo that appeared on Emma's Facebook timeline, and despite her scrolling speed she instantly recognised him. How could she not have; it was a face she had long dreaded the return of, and as it was, she froze, fingers hovering over her laptop's trackpad, heart suddenly racing.

She literally felt the blood draining from her face. Literally _felt it_.

' _Look who's back in town!_ ' the caption merrily read. It had been taken outside a McDonalds that Emma recognised; it was right down the road from her school.

And there he was. Frikkin' _Neal_ , grinning away as though he hadn't been MIA for the past two years. He had grown a bit of stubble, gained a bit of weight, but otherwise had the exact same smirk that Emma had been trying – and succeeding – to mentally repress.

When the initial shock subsided, she proceeded to frantically stalk Neal's page in order to find out where he was (indeed, back in Storybrooke), what he was doing (going to school but not at Queenhart, rather at the public school on the other side of town), who he was staying with (a mysterious _Tamara_ who featured prominently in his photo album) and which crowd he was running with now (again, Tamara, relationship currently ambiguous).

Well then.

Her heart rate had slowed a little now, replaced by a growing, churning dread in her stomach. She pulled out her phone and debated texting Mary Margaret or maybe Ruby – but decided against it.

She could deal with this.

He wasn't going to their school anymore. If she hadn't seen the Facebook post, she wouldn't have even known he was there.

She'd ignore him. That was the best, most mature course of action. She wouldn't even give him the satisfaction of _thinking_ about him.

Thus decided, she went to bed, proceeded to wake up three times in a cold sweat, and ended up being so rattled that she stayed home the next day.

Emma hadn't skipped school in two years (and how painfully ironic was it that that just so happened to coincide with Neal's absence), and she refused to believe that The Sudden And Horrific Return Of _Him_ was going to start her into bad habits again. No, she was taking a mental health day, for her own wellbeing. It helped that she looked pale and nauseous enough that her parents quite easily bought that she had a stomach bug.

So yes.

It was Neal's fault that she missed school on Tuesday the 13th of May, the day on which their assessment calender dictated that they would be receiving this term's English assignment.

And thus it was Neal's fault that when she returned to school the next day, the rest of the class had already chosen pairs to work in, and the only other person who'd been away that same day was-

“Killian Jones,” Miss Belle French announced. 

Emma's stomach dropped like a stone. She slowly turned from the teacher's desk to scan the room. It didn't take long to find him, considering he sat in the back left corner of every single class they shared (the optimum position from which to text under the table and not get caught).

“Hm?” He looked up from where he'd been idling scribbling in his folder. “Beg pardon?”

“Come here, please,” Belle said patiently. “You need to receive your English assignment.”

 _Oh no,_ Emma thought. She plastered a tight, impassive smile on her face, though she was dying inside. _No, no, please no, my day is going badly enough already..._

Killian marched up to the teacher's desk, and she glanced at him, idly noting that his left arm was bound in a sling – probably the reason he'd been absent yesterday.

“Miss French,” Emma said calmly, “Is it possible to work individually on this task?” She was impressed by how smoothly it came out.

“Sorry Emma,” Belle replied, “But the syllabus says that you need to do a group task. I know you prefer to work on your own.”

“What Swan is trying to say,” Killian cut in, “is that she doesn't want to work with me.” He fixed her with a cunning grin and she glared back at him.

“I didn't say that,” she snapped. Belle was giving her a disapproving look. “Like Miss said, I work better on my own.”

“Then this shall be an exercise in team work,” Belle said firmly, whisking out the assignment sheet. “As you know, we're studying Hamlet. You need to analyse a particular theme in relation to both the characters and storyline and integrate it into a combined visual and written composition, to be presented at the end of the term. Most of the class have picked their themes already, so I'm afraid you're left with 'Choice'.”

“Choice,” Emma repeated flatly. The irony was slowly killing her.

“Choice!” Belle said happily. “Does that sound alright?”

“Sure,” Killian replied with an easy smile. Belle smiled back at him obliviously, and Emma felt a spike of annoyance. Their English teacher liked to think the best of everyone. She did not see the evilness that lurked beneath that outwardly charming, blue-eyed British surface.

“Great! Get started then. You'll have the next few lessons to work on it in class, then you'll have to continue in your own time.” She turned away and began shuffling papers on her desk.

Emma felt sick, she quite honestly did. Despite her decision to ignore Neal, his presence nagged at the back of her mind, and she hadn't had the chance to talk to her friends about it yet. And now, now she was paired with one of the few people at her school who she really, genuinely Did Not Like. Life really seemed stacked against her at the moment.

“Let's work at your table, there's more room,” Killian said, breaking her out of her reverie. She nodded sharply, and walked over.

Mary Margaret was working with David a little way away, but had been watching the exchange at the teacher's desk. She caught Emma's eye and gave her a small, sympathetic smile. Beside her, David caught sight of Killian. His eyes narrowed and he made a gun with his fingers and mimed shooting the other boy, which brought a smile to Emma's lips for the first time that day. 

“Incoming,” Killian's voice sounded next to her, before a flood of books and folders slammed onto the desk, making her jump.

“Careful,” she snapped.

“Sorry, love, but it's kinda hard carrying stuff all with one hand,” he replied, and proceeded to struggle with pulling a chair out for a good twenty seconds while Emma watched on, unamused. 

“What happened to your arm, anyway?” she asked grudgingly once he was finally sat down. 

“Broke my wrist, thanks for caring.”

“I don't, but how?” she added, curiosity getting the better of her.

He glanced at her through his eyelashes as he attempted to hold open his copy of Hamlet and turn the pages with only one hand. Emma stared back at him impassively.

A lesser woman might have been intimidated by the fact that Killian Jones was Handsome with a capital H. With thick black hair, piercing blue eyes, and a penchant for eyeliner that frequently got him sent to the principal's office (Queenhart Grammar had a strict uniform code), he certainly was not lacking in the looks department. The accent was just the icing on the cake.

Emma, however, was anything but shallow, and she had long since been put off by Killian's personality, innuendos and above all the unforgivable fact that he was part of Regina's group.

“Sporting injury,” he replied smoothly. “I fell on it while playing football." 

 _Liar_ , Emma thought. She was good at spotting them. She didn't call him out, however, just shrugged and opened her own book.

“So. Choice,” she declared. “Any... opening thoughts?”

He chewed his bottom lip as he flicked through his copy of the play, and Emma watched him speculatively.

She knew a lot about Killian. Or at least, she thought she did. She knew that he had arrived at their school in year 9, was a total smartass, hung out with Regina and co, flirted with anything that breathed but never had a steady girlfriend, was consistently being sent to detention for uniform related offences, and for reasons unknown was mortal enemies with their year coordinator, Mr Gold.

She did not know much about his academic record, but assumed he was a slacker, if only because she'd never seen him put his hand up in class and he'd never attended any of the school awards night ceremonies. She was fully prepared to do all the work herself – would almost have preferred it (she wasn't kidding when she said she worked better on her own).

“I think,” he said finally, “That the central choice within the play is obviously whether Hamlet should kill his uncle or not. But the whole final drama of everyone dying at the end isn't only based on that choice, it's a result of all the little choices everyone else made along the way. And those all contributed to Hamlet's decision as well.” 

“Right... uh, yeah,” she said, a little taken aback. She hadn't thought he was paying that much attention to what they studied in class. “How about we start by making a list of every example of choice then? I'll do acts 1 to 3 and you can do 4 and 5.”

“Alright.”

They got down to business. Emma was pleasantly surprised by the fact that he was working silently, and briefly entertained the notion that maybe they could get this done painlessly.

Then, of course, he had to open his mouth.

“So where were you yesterday? I didn't take you for a bludger.”

“I was sick,” she said stiffly.

“With what?”

She glared at him, irritated by his nosiness. “Stomach bug, not that it's any of your business.”

“You seem fine today,” he commented, staring at her intently.

“I am fine today. I wasn't fine yesterday.”

“That's a quick stomach bug.”

“I didn't realise you were an expert.”

He tilted his head, fiddling with the cap of his pen. “And I didn't realise you were a bludger.”

“I'm not,” she replied coldly.

It hit her, suddenly, that he could be fishing for information to try to get her in trouble. Could be waiting to report any findings to Regina, who would in turn report to Principal Mills, in some convoluted scheme to get her in trouble. It wouldn't be the first time.

After a moment, he shrugged. “Whatever. It works out for me, anyway, I get the delight of your company for the next few weeks.”

“Whereas I am stuck with the most repulsive specimen of humanity in the entire school,” she retorted drily. “Oh, joy.”

He grinned at her. “I guarantee you will fall for me by the time this project is complete.”

His tone was joking, but it still made her bristle; maybe it was because that was how she had met Neal, being assigned together to compile a report on _Imperialism and the Causes of World War I_ , maybe it was because that was the sort of teasing comment he used to make.

“In your dreams,” she snapped, perhaps a little too harshly, because his eyebrows rose.

“In yours too, darling,” he replied, almost automatically.

Before Emma could make another biting remark, someone pulled out the chair next to her and sat down. She turned to see Regina, and instantly stiffened.

“Hello Emma,” Regina said, with a poisonous smile.

“Hello Regina,” she replied, with a simpering smile in return. “Can I help you?”

“Just came to see how you two were doing,” Regina said, unconvincingly. “Killian, can I borrow a highlighter?”

“Sure,” he said, gaze darting between them almost curiously. 

Emma didn't think about Regina that much, other than the fact that they hated each other. Well, hated-by-association. It was Mary Margaret that the feud was really about. But now that she thought about it, she realised she didn't exactly know where the trouble had all started from. She had asked, a few times, but Mary Margaret didn't really like talking about it, and Emma had enough secrets of her own that she didn't push. She'd seen enough of Regina's actions to know that the girl was bad news. But now she wondered whether Regina's own friends knew exactly what happened, or whether they just played along out of loyalty to her.

“Thank you,” Regina said as a blue highlighter was passed to her. She took it, but made no move to leave.

“We're working,” Emma said finally, stiffly, turning back to her book.

“Of course,” Regina said. “By the way – I heard Neal was back in town.”

Emma froze.

She suddenly realised that she hadn't heard his name out loud in – God, it had to have been months. The sound of it send a cold shiver trailing down her spine. She realised that she was gripping her book hard enough to bend the pages. 

“Yes,” she said, and her voice sounded stiff and stilted even to her own ears. “Yes, he is. I heard.”

“Funny he didn't come back to Queenhart,” Regina commented, resting her chin on her hands. “I wonder why that is.”

“It's hard to start in the middle of the year,” Emma replied, inwardly screaming. _Why is she talking about this? Why did she bring it up?_ And then, with horrible realisation, _What does she know that I don't?_

“You started in the middle of the year, didn't you?” Regina asked, turning to Killian, who looked even more confused by now.

“Aye – but not in the middle of the term. Who are we talking about?”

Emma's gaze was firmly fixed on her book, though she was mostly just reading the same line over and over again; _oh horrible, oh horrible, most horrible._ When she finally darted a look up, it was to see Killian watching her with an odd, almost calculating expression. He looked away before their eyes could meet.

“Neal,” Regina continued with a smirk. “That's right, he left in year 9, didn't he? Before you arrived. He's Mr Gold's son.”

That caught Killian's attention; his spine stiffened as though someone had poured icy water down his back. Funnily enough, it reminded Emma of her own reaction to finding out about Neal's return.

“Is he now,” Killian said slowly. “Why did he leave?”

“Regina,” Emma began, but the the other girl was already speaking.

“No one knows, except that he dumped Emma here harder than a load of bricks before he left.” She turned to Emma, eyes glittering. “What did you do to him? Must've been something awful-”

That was it. She couldn't take it any more; there was a deep, heavy ache welling up in her chest like her lungs were filling with fluid and every breath was a strain. Before she knew what she was doing, she had risen, her chair scraping back noisily against the floor as she gathered her books in her arms and ran out of the room- 

Just as the bell went for lunch.

She was halfway down the corridor before people began spilling out of classrooms, and somehow it was relieving being surrounded by people and busy, bustling noise, drowning out Regina's voice ringing in her ears. 

“Emma! Emma!” Someone was calling her name, shrill and high pitched. She clutched her books tighter against her chest, making for the bathroom, but before she could get there someone grabbed her arm and pulled her against the wall.

“Emma,” Mary Margaret said, her eyes huge and welling with concern. David was right behind her, his lips set in a tight line.

“I'm fine,” Emma said, her voice almost pleading. “Guys, I'm fine, can I just...” She tried to squirm out of her friend's grasp, wanting to be on her own – she just needed to, just needed to _sort her thoughts out_ -

“Emma,” Mary Margaret said. She let go of Emma's arm, instead took her books from her and placed them on the floor before grasping her by the shoulders, her grip firm and comforting. “What happened? What did Regina say?”

“Nothing,” Emma replied, stiffly. “I mean, I already knew – Neal's back.” 

A look of horror crossed her friends' faces. They glanced at each other. 

“What?” David asked.

“He's back. He's going to Storybrooke, though – Storybrooke High School. He's not coming back here. But he's back, I don't know why...” she trailed off, taking a moment to just calm down and breathe.

“Oh, Emma,” Mary Margaret said. She pulled her close into a hug, and Emma let her, glad for the chance to compose herself. When she pulled away she had shuttered her expression into something closed off and blank. She didn't miss the way Mary Margaret and David exchanged glances, looking almost disappointed. 

She felt a bit bad for shutting them out. God knows they'd had their work cut out for them getting her to open up at all in the first place, and they were her most trusted friends, but this – she couldn't cope with getting all touchy-feely, air-your-emotions right now. Not when Neal was in the picture. 

“Has he contacted you?” David asked, voice low. He looked alarmingly serious, and Emma was struck by the mental image of him tracking down Neal and sucker-punching him in the face. It was amusing, at least.

“No,” she replied. She held her hands stiff by her sides until they stopped shaking, then picked her books up. “I changed my mobile number since he left. I blocked him on Facebook. Unless he comes to me in person, he's not getting to me.”

“Are you okay?” Mary Margaret asked then, voice soft with worry.

“I'm fine.” She forced a smile. “Really, guys. I found out on Monday. Regina was just being... well, Regina. But I've elected to ignore him. It was two years ago.”

She was proud of how solid she made it all sound. Two years ago, dead and packed away. Not bothered at all. Really.

David seemed convinced, smiling and flipping open his planner to check what their next class after lunch was. Mary Margaret smiled back at her, but kept a hand on her shoulder. Emma knew she would hover for a few days, but hopefully by that time she'd have sorted herself out, shoved Neal back to the dark dredges of her mind where he belonged. And with any luck, he'd stay there.

As they made their way down the hall to their lockers, Emma caught sight of Killian. He was standing on the fringes of Regina's group – Sidney, Victor, William Smee, Kathryn et al – but seemed distracted, picking at his cast with his other hand. When he saw her going by, he looked up and fixed her with an intense stare.

She expected a lot of things in that look – scorn. Contempt. Blatant, impassive curiosity.

She did not expect concern.

Before she could even begin to react, David caught sight of Killian staring, and stepped between them with his special David Nolan Glare, guaranteed to ward off any unwanted attention, and Mary Margaret swept Emma off down the corridor.


	2. Thaw

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While I’m endeavouring to keep characterisation as true to the show as possible, in the spirit of the AU I’m taking into account the fact that the characters are now teenagers, with slightly different backstories. As such I’m trying to balance their personalities between their canonical characters while still having their reactions in keeping with this story’s ages/experiences… or something :) yeahh hopefully this works out

  
Having struggled through the rest of the day by way of furiously concentrating on her schoolwork and blocking out everything else, Emma looked forward to doing the same in her last class – maths – before heading home to hopefully lose herself in a good book, or possibly Flappy Bird.

Killian promptly quashed those plans.

Maths was not Emma's strongest subject – her talents lay more in the humanities – so she took General, while most of her friends did higher level or even extension maths. She was well acquainted with the rest of her class, but not close enough to want to bother sitting and chatting with them, so she had her own desk by the side of the room.

Mr Gold was often late to the lessons, as his dual duties as a year coordinator took up quite a bit of his time, so the class was frequently left to sit in the room on their own and get started on the work without him – it seemed he trusted year 11s, at least, to be mature about it and not waste the time.

Emma was doing just this when she spied Killian getting up from his seat at the very front and centre of the room, where Gold had placed him as punishment some weeks ago, and heading towards her.

 _Crap_ , she thought, the anger and embarrassment of English class flooding back to her all of a sudden.

“What do you want?” she snapped as he approached. To her dismay, he had brought all his books with him, and promptly sat down next to her and proceeded to spread out his work as though he owned the place.

“Most people say 'hello',” he replied drily. “You looked lonely over there, so I thought you might appreciate the company.”

“Well, I don't,” she said.

There was a moment of very awkward silence, in which Emma plotted a graph with such force that the lead of her mechanical pencil snapped. When she finally looked up, she was surprised to see Killian just sitting there doing his work. She cast discreet glances at him for a few moments, but he didn't look up once.

Instantly her suspicions were raised. She didn't... understand. Why just sit there working? Why was he not bothering her?

“Can you do me a favour,” he spoke up finally.

 _A-ha_ , she thought. _Here it comes_.

“Depends what it is,” she said, narrowing her eyes at him and bracing herself for whatever stupid or inane request.

He finally looked up, stared at her quizzically for a moment, and then broke into a stilted grin.

“Relax, love. I just want you to draw me a line. It's rather difficult using a ruler with one hand.”

She huffed irritably, but did do what he asked, except now he seemed to take that as an invitation to start talking about other things. Other, rather unwelcome things.

“So. In English earlier-”

“Stomach bug,” she broke in quickly. She was good at spotting lies, but she was also quite good at concocting them when the need arose. “When nature calls, well, it really calls.”

“Really,” he said flatly.

“Really,” she repeated, and slid his book back over to him.

“Thank you.” He continued to look at her, toying with the end of his pencil between his teeth – a habit Emma normally found kind of gross, but he managed to pull it off. “Look, I wanted to say...”

“What?”

“I know you don't like me,” he declared flatly. She grimaced, but she hadn't exactly been subtle about it; their friendship groups despised each other and made no secret of it. “I know your friends hate mine and vice versa,” he continued. “But I can't fail this English assignment.”

“Okay,” she said, unsure what he was getting at.

“So I suggest a truce, for now,” he said. “I'll make sure Regina doesn't bother you in class or whatever. And in return we just put aside our differences and get along until this project is complete.”

“That sounds fair,” Emma replied, secretly rather relieved that he was taking the class so seriously. She was generally one of the higher achievers, at least in English, and didn't want to fail because of forced group work.

“Fantastic,” he said with a smile. Before they could talk further, Mr Gold entered the room with a muttered apology for being late.

“I hope you've been doing your work, dearies,” he informed them as he strode up to the whiteboard and uncapped a marker. “Because we have a topic test next week. Today we start probability...” he trailed off as his gaze landed on the empty desk where Killian normally sat. Quickly scanning the room, he narrowed his eyes at the boy.

“Mr Jones, why are you not in your assigned seat?”

“I broke my wrist,” Killian replied. “So Emma's helping me.”

Emma stared at him. She'd never gotten an up close and personal look at the feud between Mr Gold and Killian before, had always put it down to a student and teacher who just didn't get along. But seated next to Killian, she was stunned by the pure and genuine hatred that had descended over his features, twisting his mouth into a tight, strained smile that didn't reach his eyes. Mr Gold was no better, he looked as though he had just tasted something particularly sour.

“Helping you with what?” Gold demanded. “You're right-handed, you should have no problem writing.”

“Yes, but using a ruler or a sharpener takes me forever, and I'd rather not waste time. If that's alright with you,” he added mockingly.

Gold's gaze turned to Emma next, and she shifted a bit uncomfortably, not liking being caught in the middle of this... whatever it was, between them.

“Fine,” he said finally. “If you must. Let me just remind you that you really should focus on the lesson, because next week's topic test goes towards your final mark.” A smirk spread across his face as though he was indulging in some private joke. “And you really don't want to fail this class, do you?”

“No,” Killian ground out.

“No what?”

“No, I don't want to fail this class?”

Gold glared at him. “No _sir_.”

“No sir,” Killian said, managing to make it sound like an insult. Emma frowned a little – she had always been annoyed by students who talked back to teachers, but whatever this was between the two of them, it seemed far deeper and more personal than simple disrespect.

“Good,” Gold said, and turned back to the board.

They began work in silence, writing down formulae and beginning a page of exercises from the textbook. Emma had almost forgotten that Killian was sitting next to her until a piece of paper slid across the desk towards her.

 _'I would 100% drop this class if I could'_ , it read.

Emma glanced across at him, but he had his head down, working. She was not a huge fan of passing notes in class; most teachers let their students talk anyway, and in the case of maths she didn't usually have conversations so pressing that she'd risk a detention for them.

Curiosity won out in the end, though, and she quickly scribbled a message back.

_'Why can't you?'_

_'I don't have enough subjects to drop it and still have enough units.'_

After a moment's thought, Emma asked, ' _Why do you and Gold hate each other so much?'_

She slid the note back to him, and waited for his reply.

It didn't come.

She finished the entire page of exercises and got on to checking the answers, but found herself waiting for his response. She was genuinely interested in his answer, but when he showed no signs of giving it, she abruptly wondered if she'd offended him somehow without realising.

Just when she'd given up hope of ever finding out, the paper was flicked back onto her side of the table. She unfolded it perhaps a little too eagerly.

_'Look at his skin, mate. It's so dry. He needs to moisturise. Looks like a crocodile ayoo'_

It was not the serious answer she was expecting, and she struggled not to snort. Especially when she looked up at Mr Gold and realised that his skin was sort of leathery, which great, thanks Killian, now she could not unsee.

Thankfully before she had to think of a response – or could break out laughing – the bell went for the end of class, and she swept the note into her folder before packing up her belongings.

“Seriously?” she said, trying and failing to hide her amusement.

Killian glanced at her, eyes twinkling. “What can I say lass, it offends me. Proper skin care is important.”

“Really, though, why do you guys hate each other?” He was struggling to zip his pencil case one-handed, and she reached over to help him.

He just raised and lowered one shoulder. “Got off on the wrong foot, I guess.”

It was another lie – not even one he'd put effort into this time, and she raised her eyebrows. But prying would look too much like caring, and she wasn't _that_ desperate to know, so she dropped the subject.

Purely due to their seating proximity, they ended up walking out of class together, only to encounter Mary Margaret and David waiting for Emma in the hallway outside. They ended up standing in a group together, staring at each other in awkward silence.

“Hi Killian,” Mary Margaret said finally.

He grinned at her and waved the fingers of his non-injured hand. “Mary Margaret. Charmed to see you. Your new haircut is delightful.”

“Thanks,” she replied stiffly. She had recently gone short.

David seemed to take the way Killian's eyes scanned his girlfriend as a personal offence. He stepped halfway in front of her, fixing Killian with another glare.

“I think your locker is over there,” he said, jerking his head the opposite way down the hall.

“No,” Killian said cheerfully, “It's not, but point taken. See you tomorrow, Swan,” he added. His shoulder brushed hers briefly as he turned to walk off, and the physical contact made her stiffen for reasons she wasn't quite sure of.

“What did he want?” Mary Margaret asked with a frown.

Emma shrugged. “He came and sat with me in maths. He wants to call a truce so we can do well in our assignment.”

“I don't like it,” David declared instantly. This was no surprise. David did not like anything to do with Regina and her friends.

“Neither do I, but he seemed pretty serious about it,” Emma replied. Mary Margaret and David shared a look – the three of them had been friends for five years now, and they'd learned that Emma was pretty good at reading people. “I think he really doesn't want to fail English. Mr Gold mentioned something about not failing maths either. I guess he needs to keep his grades up or something.”

“Maybe so, but just... don't trust him, okay?” Mary Margaret's voice was laced with worry. “Remember what he did to Aurora?”

Emma grimaced, the reminder souring any good feelings she might have had towards Killian. “Yeah. Don't worry guys. My trusting people too quickly is really, really not something to be concerned about. Heh!”

The other two gave slightly weak laughs, at they always did at any of her self-deprecating humour, and they headed off to home room.

It wasn't until late that night when she did a routine Facebook check that Emma realised that since her conversation with Killian, she'd effectively been distracted enough to not even think about Neal. Being paranoid, however, she still checked every single mutual friend they had in order to make sure he was staying well away – and, indeed, he seemed to be.

 

* * *

 

“How are you holding up?” Mary Margaret asked the next day, as they lined up outside their English classroom. It was the first lesson of the day.

“Better, to be honest,” Emma replied. Now that 48 hours had passed without seeing hide nor hair of her ex-boyfriend, she was starting to rationalise that her initial freak-out had been, well, little more than an initial freak-out. The thought of Neal was starting to make her feel less sick and scared, and more... angry. And if Regina tried to pull anything on her again, this time she wouldn't be the one forced to leave the room.

“That's good,” Mary Margaret said with a smile. “So what are you doing for the assignment?”

Emma snorted. “Funnily enough, we were left with no choice but to do 'choice'. You guys?”

“Love,” Mary Margaret replied brightly, and Emma barked out a laugh, struggling not to facepalm. Mary Margaret and David had clicked at their first meeting on the first day of school at Queenhart Grammar, and had dated since year 8. At times she found their constant lovey-doveyness a touch overbearing; at the same time the fact that she'd seen them come out strong despite bearing witness to the numerous obstacles thrown against them was reassuring, in a way.

Belle finally arrived to open the classroom. She was walking with Mr Gold, balancing a coffee in one hand and a stack of books in the other, and was laughing and smiling merrily. Gold himself even had a small smile playing at his lips – and the entire class stared. It was rare to see their year coordinator looking happy in a way that was genuine rather than sarcastic.

“Good morning, Swan,” a voice rang out from behind Emma. She jumped before glancing around to see Killian, standing a little too close with a roguish grin.

“...dude, personal space,” she replied, intelligently, taking a step away. He just laughed, following her into the classroom where they sat down together, Belle having written 'continue assignments' on the board before sitting down to read at her desk.

“You're going to get a detention if you don't put your tie on,” Emma said as she took her books out.

Killian glanced down at his shirt. “I can't tie it with only one hand!”

“Is that going to be your excuse for everything from now on?” she replied, not buying it in the slightest.

He laughed again. “It works on the teachers. And I've noticed girls to be finding it very... attractive, when I tell them all about how I got it defending my honour in a barfight.”

“What happened to 'sporting injury'?” she asked, trying very hard not to be amused.

He flapped his hand. “Details.”

She snorted. “Right. Well, I finished my write-up of the first three acts, did you do yours?”

He grimaced suddenly, glancing down at his book. “Uh... no.”

For a moment she didn't know what to say. It was the first time she'd ever seen him actually look embarrassed about something. “Well, how much do you have left to do?”

“Most of it?” He flipped open his folder. “I didn't work on it last night.”

Emma wasn't quite sure why a fit of annoyance seized her. After all, it wasn't as though she hadn't forgotten to do her homework now and then. Maybe it was because for all his annoying-ness, she had actually thought he was sincere yesterday about working together to get this done – she had believed him, given him the benefit of the doubt.

“Did you have much homework in other subjects?” she forced out, not wanting to get too angry over nothing.

“No. I had to go to work. I'll finish it now,” he added, and Emma sighed.

“Okay, whatever,” she said. Some of her irritation must have come out in her voice, because he glanced at her, looking almost tentative.

“My apologies,” he said stiffly. “Maybe you can start sorting what we have so far into the characters and their interactions.”

“Yeah. You just finish your part.”

The tense silence that they worked in after that made her uncomfortable, and she wasn't sure why. Usually it would have been a given with Killian – in history, a few times, she'd been randomly assigned into groups with him and several others, and when they received the assignment yesterday she hadn't expected working with him one-on-one to be any different.

But now, after how companionably they'd gotten on in maths... now the tension between them seemed uneasy.

He didn't try to talk to her again, and she didn't bother starting a conversation. When the bell finally went, they parted ways and went to their next class without even glancing at each other.

 

* * *

 

“I think Mr Gold has a crush on Miss French,” Ruby announced at lunch that day, with all the wisdom of a serial dater.

David choked on his pasta salad.

A piece of lettuce slowly fell from Emma's sandwich.

“'Mr Gold' and 'crush' are not two words I ever expected to hear in the same sentence,” she said, and Ruby nodded vigorously.

“I know! I mean, maybe 'crush' isn't the right way to put it. But I'm pretty sure he's into her.”

“And where did you hear about this?” Mary Margaret asked, although she looked pretty intrigued by now.

It was a running joke amongst their year group that Mr Gold was a heartless monster; he was liberal with issuing detentions, he spent parent-teacher meetings making sarcastic comments about the students, his maths tests were bordering on nightmarish, and he just generally lacked the friendly rapport that most of the other teachers at least attempted to establish with the students. Apart from Principal Mills, he was generally considered one of the scariest people at the school.

Compare to Belle French: bright, sunny Miss French who spent most of her lessons recommending books to students based on their personal preferences, who went out of her way to assist people after class and did everything possible to keep students' grades at a B or higher.

“I got stuck with Victor for the assignment,” Ruby said. “Who, by the way, is actually alright when he's not being an incorrigible flirt. He seems to just hang out with Regina for the fun of it.”

David gave a disapproving 'hmmm'.

“Anyway. He heard from Regina, who heard from her mum. And did you see them before class today? I'm pretty sure that was a genuine smile. For a moment I thought I was dreaming.”

“I don't know,” Mary Margaret said. “Mr Gold and Miss French...? I guess I just can't picture him with _anyone_.”

“He used to be married, though,” Emma commented, and the other three all sat up straighter.

“What?” David asked.

Emma blinked. “Yes...? I thought it was common knowledge,” she added, now a bit confused. “Remember Milah, the old guidance counsellor here? She left at the end of year 9. She was his wife! She's Neal's mother.”

“Wait, wait,” Mary Margaret said. “But... he never...” she trailed off, obviously torn between asking a question about Neal, or pretending that he had never existed. Emma rolled her eyes.

“You can talk about him, guys. It was two years ago.”

“He never mentioned that she was his mother,” David commented, brows furrowing slightly.

She could see why they were so confused. Neal had indeed never mentioned it, and he'd been part of their group for a good year. She'd only found out because she hung out at his house a number of times and saw her in photos. Neal had acted awkwardly enough about it that she'd gathered they were having marital troubles. So she hadn't brought it up with the others, and assumed that maybe they already knew about the family connection and she herself was just particularly thick.

As it was, Milah had left the school six months after Neal did, and given this new information about Belle, Emma presumed she and Mr Gold were now separated.

“That is so random,” Ruby said. “I mean, I didn't know Milah all that well. But Mr Gold was sort of grumpy even before she left!”

“Maybe that's why,” Emma muttered, and Mary Margaret shot her a disapproving look. Emma just shrugged. She couldn't help being cynical.

“I don't trust a word out of Regina's mouth, anyway,” David said. He glanced over at the table where Regina's group normally sat, and Emma followed his gaze.

Year 11 was high enough on the Queenhart social scale to lay claim to a shady picnic area with plenty of tables, while the junior years were stuck out in the plaza, exposed to the elements and either too hot in Summer or too windy in Winter. Most groups sat at the same table every lunchtime, with Regina's group holding the prime spot right by the art room window.

The girl herself was currently leaning in close to Kathryn and Sidney, presumably huddled over a phone or something. Victor was roaring with laughter at something Smee had said. There was no sign of Killian, and Emma wondered absently where he was.

“Come to the library with me?” Mary Margaret said suddenly, nudging Emma with her elbow. “I need to return a book.”

“Sure.” She was glad to get up and stretch her legs. Talking about Neal had actually felt good, she mused as they walked. It solidified the fact that from now on, he would be referred to purely in the past tense.

“So David's birthday is coming up soon, and I was thinking that maybe we could organise something...”

Mary Margaret continued talking as they entered the library. As Emma listened, and waited for her to rummage around in her bag and find her book, she glanced around the building. She didn't go into the library much – it tended to be crowded with year 7s using the computers.

Suddenly her gaze fell on the last person she expected to see sitting in one of the study carrels.

_Killian?_

He was hunched over his books, writing furiously, and she frowned. She nudged Mary Margaret, who trailed off into silence.

“One sec, I'll meet you back at the table,” Emma said, glancing at Killian again. Mary Margaret looked over at him and frowned a little, but nodded.

Emma wandered over to him. She made no attempt to be stealthy, but he still jumped when she prodded him in the shoulder, seemingly having been engrossed in his work.

“Emma?” he asked, sounding bewildered.

“Hey,” she said. “Library? Not really your scene.”

“I know,” he said, with a rueful grin. “I'm catching up on the English assignment.” He rubbed the back of his neck.

Emma blinked, taken aback. She glanced at his folder to see he'd finished the work he was meant to have done at home, and was now continuing on with what she'd started doing in class.

“...I see,” she said, eloquently.

Damn. He really was devoted to this, then.

“Yeahhhh,” he replied, just as gawkishly.

Having no idea what to say now, Emma just smiled a bit awkwardly, and he smiled back. And for some reason, sitting in the library surrounded by scattered papers, a bent copy of Hamlet held open by a hole puncher on the desk beside him, tie knotted messily and askew around his neck and smile more sheepish than anything else – it was the first time she had ever found Killian Jones genuinely attractive.

“Right. I'll see you in class then,” she said. Her voice seemed to break the moment, and Killian nodded, turning back to his work.

For some reason, even as she left, Emma couldn't quite bring herself to stop smiling.


	3. Salt

 “Today will be your last day to work on the project in class,” Belle announced, smiling around at them all. “After that, you'll have to do it on your own time. Remember, this is due in week 8. I know that seems very far away, but with all your other assignments it'll creep up on you quickly, so get going!”

Emma fought not to fidget as she glanced at the clock. Killian was over five minutes late to the lesson, and had missed the roll being called.

She twisted in her seat. Victor and Ruby were working behind her, heads bent close together over a book.

“Hey,” she called out to get their attention. Their heads snapped up almost guiltily, and she gave them a little wave. “Victor – is Killian at school today?”

“Yeah,” he replied. “I saw him this morning. He not in class?” He glanced around the room, declared Killian's absence “Weird!” and promptly returned to his own work.

Emma frowned. Given what she'd seen in the library the other day, she hadn't thought Killian would bludge English class – had, in fact, almost been looking forward to working on the project with him. So where was he?

Shaking her head, she decided not to waste any more time and began to continue on her own. Ten minutes later, however, she heard the classroom door opening. Maybe her head snapped up a little too quickly, so sue her, it was hard doing the entire project by herself.

“Apologies for my tardiness,” Killian said to Belle, because apparently 'sorry I'm late' wasn't fancy enough for him. He showed her a note, presumably as an explanation, and she nodded and waved for him to go sit down.

“Hi,” Emma said as he took his customary seat beside her.

“Hey. Sorry. I was with a teacher,” he began, except as he half-dropped his planner onto the table the note flew out and Emma caught it automatically. As she handed it back to him, she caught a glimpse of the teacher's signature at the bottom – Archie Hopper, the school counsellor. She astutely pretended not to have seen anything, and when Killian shoved the note hurriedly in his pocket, she knew she'd made the right call.

“No problem. You finish what you were working on before?” she asked, and Killian nodded, seeming glad to get stuck right into things.

“Yeah, and I actually did some brainstorming last night about ways we can divide up 'choice' into smaller chunks,” he said. He flicked open his book to a page that was absolutely covered in messy scrawls of writing.

“...wow. Okay,” Emma said.

He grinned sheepishly. “I woulda done it on the computer, but a broken wrist does not a fast typist make. Anyway. Within this mess of mental diarrhoea...” He scanned through his own incomprehensible notes before catching sight of something and giving a firm nod. “That's right. Friends.”

“Friends?”

“Yeah. I mean, the choices in the play are influenced by both the personal and political side of things, right? And then within the personal side, there's family, friends, and I guess a romantic relationship as well with Ophelia.” As he spoke, Emma noticed absently that he was very good at holding direct eye contact. She forced herself to focus. “So maybe it would be interesting to look at how that impacted on choices.”

“Like what?” she asked.

“Well, take Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, for example. They used to be Hamlet's friends, but they made the choice – presumably motivated by money – to betray him and spy on him. And that betrayal of trust let Hamlet to make the choice to kill them later on, and not feel bad about it or anything.”

“Ohh. I see what you're getting at. Whereas Horatio made the choice to stick by his friend, and he's the only one left standing right at the end.”

“Aye. Which then ties into the corresponding theme of loyalty, in line with the values promoted by Shakespeare,” Killian finished. “Sound alright?”

“Sounds great! Especially since it lets us get into the morality of the choices made, not just their consequences. Shall we gather some quotes?” she asked, already flicking open her copy of the play.

Killian nodded, doing the same thing. A few moments passed in silence.

“A lot of people forget that Rosencrantz and Guildenstern were his friends, I think,” Killian said suddenly. “I mean, people focus on the betrayal part a lot more than the fact that before that they were all bros at university.”

She snorted, suddenly struck by the mental image of the Elizabethan prince of Denmark hanging out at college with a bunch of dudebros. “Yeah, I guess people tend to focus more on the family side of things.”

“Friends are just as important.”

“Yup. Like that quote about 'friends being the family you pick for yourself', or whatever.” She mentioned it as an absent thought, little more than a way of continuing the conversation, but Killian paused mid highlighter-stroke, frowning thoughtfully.

“I hadn't heard that before,” he said.

“Really?” She didn't miss the way his eyes darted across the room to where Regina was sitting, working intently with Sidney.

“Yeah,” he said quietly.

Emma frowned. When he first arrived in year 9, she had been too broken up over Neal to pay much attention to it. By the time she did, he had already secured his position as one of Regina's top cronies, thus becoming guilty by association – and quickly proved himself just as able to be catty and petty and, well, a complete asshole.

Now she wondered just why he had fallen in with such a crowd. So far, he'd been acting pretty normally around her, no hint of villainy in sight.

“I heard you've been friends with the same people since year 7,” he commented suddenly.

She looked up. “Yeah? Most people at this school have.”

“Really? I moved around a lot so... I don't know, I guess I figured people would change groups as they got older.”

“You've stayed friends with Regina since you got here,” Emma said, and couldn't help the slight coldness that crept into her tone at the mere mention of the other girl.

Killian seemed amused. “You really don't like her, do you?”

“I'm pretty sure the feeling is mutual.” She glanced over at Regina in time to see the other glance up and give her a filthy look. “...very mutual.”

Killian had noticed their interaction, and laughed outright. “Christ. Okay.”

“I'd have thought you already knew that she despises me. And Mary Margaret. Really, really despises Mary Margaret.” Work forgotten, she was intrigued by this new subject. She didn't often think much about the fact that Regina's group were... well, all friends, who talked together, and waited for each other outside class, and laughed at each other's jokes at lunch time. Getting an insight into the mind of the enemy was fascinating, to say the least.

“Well, yes,” Killian said. “But it's not like she goes on about it twenty-four seven.”

“Yeah, only twenty-three seven.”

That got another laugh out of him. “Seriously though,” he added. “She's not... what you think.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“You know. The cardboard cut-out Mean Girl, the principal's daughter who constantly looks for ways to mess with everyone. The school bitch.” He ran a hand through his hair. “She can be... abrasive, I'll grant, but there's a lot more to her than that.”

Emma felt bad for approximately two seconds. Then she remembered exactly how Regina had behaved towards her for the last five years, and felt nothing less than annoyed instead.

“Abrasive, right,” she said. “That's why she got my entire group banned from the year 10 formal. And had us blamed for that incident at camp last year. And broke up Ruby with her boyfriend. And attempted, countless times, to break up David and Mary Margaret. And let's not forget the icing on the cake, she got Phillip suspended and made him lose his scholarship!”

Killian was frowning now, but he didn't say anything, which only added fuel to the fire.

“What's your excuse then?” she asked. “More to you than meets the eye? Are you _abrasive_ as well? Is that why you sucked up to Aurora and then-”

“Alright,” he cut in. He looked irritated now, which Emma thought was a fine business! “Point taken.”

“Point taken? What, so you agree with me?”

“I've never claimed to be a saint,” he said. “Regina and I have... common interests.”

_Yes,_ Emma thought grimly. _Like destroying other people's lives._

“But, in any case,” Killian continued. “We are straying from our agreement.”

“Agreement?” She was confused for a moment, before she remembered their pact to not argue and just get to work. “Right.”

It was not in her nature to sweep things under the rug, to just forget about them and let them go. But for now, at least, she returned to working in silence.

As the annoyance faded, it was replaced by an odd, nagging feeling that took her a while to place.

Disappointment.

For a moment there she'd almost been able to forget that Killian was not her friend. Quite the opposite, actually. And she mentally kicked herself for letting her guard down, for hoping so easily that she might have had the wrong impression of him.

After all, if her personal experience was anything to go by, trust was not something to be quickly earned.

 

* * *

 

“It's true,” Ruby announced, as Mr Jefferson projected a sheet of notes onto the board for them to copy, pulled his hat down over his eyes and promptly appeared to go to sleep at his desk. “It's official.”

“What is?” Emma asked. She was seated between Ruby and Mary Margaret. History was always an enjoyable subject, due to a combination of a slack teacher and having two of her friends in the class.

“Mr Gold and Miss French. Apparently he was seen walking her to her car after school yesterday.”

“That doesn't necessarily mean anything,” Mary Margaret pointed out. Ruby shook her head insistently.

“This is _Mr Gold_ we're talking about here. Any non-hostile interaction is practically a declaration of love.”

Emma shook her head, amused by her friend's enthusiasm for their teachers' romantic lives.

“Speaking of,” Ruby added, eyes glittering a little as she turned to Emma, “Why is Killian Jones staring at you from the other side of the room?”

Emma twisted in her seat. Sure enough, Killian had been staring at her, and when he realised he was caught out, he played it cool, merely raising his eyebrows before giving her a slow smile. She rolled her eyes at him before turning back around.

“He's an idiot,” she declared. “An annoying idiot.”

“How is he?” Mary Margaret asked suddenly.

“What do you mean?"

“I mean, how is he with you? With the English project?” Mary Margaret was watching Emma almost intently. She didn't seem to be worried, or have that lingering sense of motherliness that she usually held towards her friend – if anything, she looked almost curious.

“Uhhh.” Emma wasn't quite sure how to respond. “I guess he's... fine? I mean, he's not cruel the way Regina is – but I suppose he never has been. He doesn't hit on me all the time, I guess he realises it'd just waste time with the project.”

“So he's been friendly then?” Ruby asked, sounding intrigued, and Emma shook her head, frustrated.

“I don't know. It's been confusing actually. He's been hot and cold.”

“Definitely hot,” Ruby muttered, and Emma elbowed her.

“Dude. I mean, sometimes he acts perfectly friendly and I almost think he's alright, then the next second he'll do something to remind me that for the last three years he's been a total ass who contributes to most of Regina's schemes. I don't really know what to think.”

Mary Margaret and Ruby glanced at each other – and it was only then that Emma realised how uncharacteristic that last statement had been. She always knew what to think of people. Read them quickly and accurately, and then, if they seemed alright, held them at arm's length until her opinion of them had solidified. It was rare for her to not understand someone.

“The other day on the bus he kept flirting with me,” Mary Margaret began, when Ruby cut in.

“Flirting's harmless!”

“I know,” Mary Margaret said with a patient smile, “But he was sitting behind us and kept deliberately trying to rile up David. Luckily he got off at the next stop or a fight really would have broken out.”

Emma did not catch the bus, but it seemed to be the setting for the worst of their school's dramas, so she could only roll her eyes and nod.

“Anyway,” Mary Margaret said. “I asked you about him because after that bus incident I was thinking and I realised that he's annoying to us a lot of the time, but he's never actively tried to mess with you.”

“Me?”

“Yeah. I mean, he sabotaged David at the athletics carnival that one time, and he helped Regina plant that evidence blaming us for the fire alarm incident at school camp, and he's assisted in countless schemes to get our group in general in trouble. I'm pretty sure he built the slingshot that one time Regina flicked gum into my hair at assembly. And he distracted Ruby in textiles and nearly made her ruin her major work – but he's never messed with you? Or at least, I don't remember him doing so.”

Emma considered this. When she thought back, it was true. Regina had messed with her. So had Sidney, now and then. Smee too, on occasion. But except for the incidents where her whole group was the target – Killian had never been involved in the ploys against her specifically.

“Probably hasn't had the chance yet,” she said, then added, jokingly, “Or else he's scared of me! Nah, it's just a coincidence.”

Mary Margaret stared at her for a long moment. Emma shifted in her seat, suddenly uncomfortable and unsure why.

“Yes,” Mary Margaret said finally. “Yes, that's probably it.”

They turned back to their work, but Emma was distracted. There was a disconcerted feeling brewing in the pit of her stomach, for one simple reason.

Mary Margaret's last statement had sent her lie detector blaring.

 

* * *

 

“See you on Monday!” David called, waving as he ran in order to avoid missing the bus. Emma waved back, then made the obligatory mock gagging noises as Mary Margaret blew a shower of kisses after him. The moment was slightly ruined when Victor, also jogging for the bus, proceeded to mime catching one and stuffing it down his pants.

“God,” Emma said, face palming. “That boy is a total pig.”

“You're telling me,” Mary Margaret replied with a grimace.

As was their usual friday routine, they made their way to the music room where Mary Margaret had choir practice. Emma wasn't in the choir, but she liked to sit outside and wait for her friend to finish. Queenhart had some pretty good singers, and the music was soothing – not to mention she got a lot more work done staying at school rather than sitting at home procrastinating just because it was the end of the week.

She had settled down with her maths homework, the strains of the choir's usual warm up (the school song) just beginning to filter through the music room window, when someone called out her name and she looked up to see Killian meandering towards her.

“Hey,” he said, looking a bit confused to see her still at school.

“Hi,” she replied, unsure what he wanted. “You missed the bus.”

“What?” He glanced at his watch, pulled a face, then shrugged. “It's fine. I think another comes in ten minutes.” He came closer and stood in front of her. Emma waited for him to say something.

“If you're just gonna stand there,” she said finally, “could you take a step to the left? The sun's right in my eye.”

“What? Ah.” He promptly moved. “Sorry. I was just thinking.”

“Anything of relevance to me?” she asked, a little impatient to get back to work.

He nodded. “The English assignment. We're not working on it in class any more, remember?”

“Oh. Yeah.”

“Did you want to meet up this weekend and get some of it done?”

She nodded. She had almost forgotten that they had to continue on their own time now. “Yeah, we probably should try get it done early. Where do you want to meet?”

“The library? The one closest to the school,” he added, presumably being unsure where she lived, as there were multiple libraries in their town.

She nodded. “Sounds fine. What time?”

“I'm working in the morning. I can try be there at 12.”

“Okay,” Emma said. “Maybe pick a couple of other themes – like the friendship one we were doing before. Then we can really get started on putting something together.”

“Sounds good.” He smiled at her, and Emma proceeded to have an internal crisis over whether smiling back would be encouraging the idea that he was totally forgiven for... well, everything (and while in fairness he hadn't been involved in too many evil plots _recently_ , hell yeah she was gonna hold a grudge about eight term's worth of nefarious schemes).

Eventually, however, she concluded that when it came to English he was at least committed, and smiled back.

He broke into a full on grin. “Excellent. I'll see you tomorrow then.”

“Yeah, bye.” She watched him leave, backpack hanging lopsidedly from one shoulder.

_Ugh. Like I said. Hot and cold_ , she thought, and got back to work.

 

* * *

 

The last thing Emma wanted to do after the stressful week she'd had was spend Friday night out and about. Unfortunately, her parents were not the greatest at forewarning her about their evening plans, and she found herself unexpectedly roped into the birthday dinner of some distant relative who happened to be in town.

Five hours of sitting in a restaurant surrounded by people that she barely knew and wasn't even related to was gruelling, to say the least, and when she finally got home it was a relief to flop down onto her bed with her laptop.

She did her usual routine check of updates on the world before switching to Facebook.

And froze, for the second time that week.

The picture had been uploaded only an hour ago, by the same distantly-acquainted classmate who had been the one to cluelessly reveal Neal's return to her.

' _Had a fun night out!'_ this one was captioned, and appeared to have been taken at the laser tag place downtown. Neal was in the forefront of the picture, grinning his usual grin. One arm was wrapped around the mysterious Tamara, both of them surrounded by a spattering of other teens – a few who she recognised from school, others who must have been from Storybrooke High.

But what really caught her attention was the fact that hovering at the back of the group was someone who looked a heck of a lot like Killian.

“What the hell,” she breathed as she clicked the picture and zoomed in. He wasn't tagged, but a quick search revealed that he didn't have a Facebook account anyway.

God. It looked exactly like him. It had to be him!

She just had no idea _why_.

He didn't even know Neal! He hadn't known of his existence until _literally two days ago_. Not to mention that the extent of his knowledge of the other boy was that he was Emma's ex and the son of the man he hated most.

What the devil was going on?!

She shut her laptop slowly.

Hot and cold was a God damn understatement now. Killian Jones was an almighty mix of different temperatures, with a few stirring sticks thrown in to really shake things up.

_What's he playing at_? 


	4. Melt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fluffy friendship-building chapter ahoy :)

Killian was twenty minutes late to their appointed library meeting, and Emma spent the time waging a mental war against herself.

Should she bring up what she had seen? Confront him about his interactions with Neal?

But then he might think she was stalking him on Facebook.

Not that she really cared what he thought, but still. It’d be awkward. Not to mention it would make her seem hysterical. Or, even worse – like the jealous, clingy ex-girlfriend who was mad about her former boyfriend being seen out and around with another woman.

Ugh.

Before she had time to come to a solid decision, Killian arrived – suddenly and quietly enough to make her jump when he pulled out the chair next to her.

“Sup. Sorry I’m late, I was-”

“Working,” she cut in, taking note of the red polo shirt he was wearing. “I know. What’s your job, anyway?”

He was busying himself with taking his books out, but glanced over at her. “I’ve got two. Video rental place, which is where I was today. And then I normally work as a cashier in the supermarket near here, but since I broke my wrist I’ve had to switch to shelving and standing around helping people who have been bested by the self-checkout machines.”

She couldn’t quite help but chuckle at that. “Right. How do you manage two jobs, though? Doesn’t that get in the way of school?” Queenhart Grammar was one of the top schools in their area, and in an effort to keep it that way the teachers generally recommended dropping any part-time jobs once you hit your senior years.

“Red Bull,” was his answer, deadpan. “A _crapload_ of Red Bull.”

She chuckled again. “No, really.”

“In all seriousness…” he shrugged. “You know. Needs must. I try to finish my homework in study periods at school.”

“Needs must? What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked curiously, and he promptly whipped out his copy of Hamlet and slammed it down on the desk.

“Nothing. What? I’ve confused myself. Let’s get to work!”

A blatant attempt to change the topic – and one that unfortunately made it impossible for her to organically redirect the subject back towards Neal. At least that kept her from having to decide whether to bring it up or not.

“Okay,” she said. “I picked a new topic, did you?”

“Yeah,” he said, extracting his sheet of horrendous scribbling again. “Ladies first.”

“Okay. Betrayal.” It came out much more darkly than she’d intended, and he stared at her intently for a moment. She quickly added, “Pretty classic for Hamlet, but it does tie into choices. What about you?”

“Revenge,” he said, and maybe she was just projecting, but he uttered it with the same tone that she’d used for her theme. Like it was personal somehow. “I went classic too.”

“Great. Let’s talk about yours first,” she said, shaking off the uncomfortable feeling that she was about to get much more deeply involved with Killian Jones than she had ever wanted to.

“Okay.” He rested his chin on his hand and leaned across the table towards her, holding her gaze with his. “Like I said when we started this project, the main choice for Hamlet is whether or not to avenge his father. And he procrastinates forever, but he does eventually do it. And all the other choices in the play are the factors affecting that decision, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.”

“Kind of like dominoes falling,” Emma mused. “Everyone’s choices keep on impacting against everyone else’s. And that affects the reasoning and morality behind the choices as well. Most of which are sort of just floating around in a moral grey soup. What?” she added; his eyes were crinkling at the corners now as though he was fighting not to laugh.

“Falling dominoes swimming in a soup of moral greyness,” he said with amusement, and she fought not to flush.

“Well, excuse me for getting into the spirit of the metaphor!”

“No, it’s good. I like how you think,” he added with a grin. “We could use the dominoes thing in the way we present it. Speaking of, how do you want to do this? Power point? Poster board?”

“Maybe some sort of collage. Or a maze. A collage set out like a maze? I don’t know.”

He was nodding, though, sketching a series of squares idly across the margin of his paper. “That could work. As I said… I like how you think.”

“Uh. Thanks.” He was staring at her again now, and for a moment she wasn’t sure where to look. She settled for eye contact, and was taken aback by just how blue his eyes were. It wasn’t something she had particularly noticed before. She wondered what he was thinking.

“…we should look for the turning point,” he announced suddenly, and Emma snapped back to attention.

“The turning point?”

“In his decision. When he finally flips and decides,hell yeah I’m gonna kill Claudius. And then boom bam, stuff goes down, everyone’s dead. _Exeunt_.”

A genuine laugh escaped her before she could stop herself. She couldn’t help it, he just sounded so dramatic.

“Great summary,” she said, and he smiled – less of the arrogant or flirtatious smirk that seemed to be his default expression. More a little smile of almost satisfaction, like he was pleased with himself for something.

“Thanks. Anyway, once we’ve got the turning point we can look at the choices leading up to it and then we can analyse whether it was morally justified or not.”

“What do you think?” she asked, trying to gauge in her head which way their project would be leaning.

“What do I think about what?”

“About whether it was justified. The revenge. In general, I mean, your first impression of the play.”

His eyes darkened suddenly, like a switch had been flipped. “Completely and utterly justified.”

“What, really?” She felt almost nervous suddenly, his face was so intense.

“Yes. Revenge is the only way to achieve any sort of justice in the world. You need to take actions into your own hands.”

“You’re not a big believer in karma, then?” she murmured, and he shook his head.

“Not really religious. Really, though. People shouldn’t be allowed to get away with things. I mean, in this case we’re talking about murder-fratricide-regicide, but even other things. If you hurt someone for nothing but selfish reasons – you deserve what you get.”

Emma was taken aback. Killian was still looking at her, but at the same time his gaze seemed almost distant and far away, as though he was speaking to himself and his words were just a vehicle for some intense feeling hidden away behind his eyes.

“What about the others?” she asked quietly.

He blinked, as though roused from a dream. “The others?”

“Gertrude. Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. Polonius. Ophelia. Everyone else who got hurt because of his attempt to get revenge. Is it still justified when other people get hurt in the process?”

“They weren’t innocent people,” he countered.

“Ophelia was.”

His lips pressed tightly together for a moment before he shook his head.

“Still worth it,” he said. “I reckon, anyway. Someone had to take Claudius down.”

“Right. Okay. Uh… how about we find some critics or philosophers who’ve written on the subject, get some conflicting views?”

“Hm? Oh. Right. Yeah.” He nodded, and the oddness that had descended over him slowly cleared away as they spent some time googling and flicking through their books.

Emma was starting to wonder if she knew anything at all about the boy sitting next to her.

_Revenge_. Why was he so intense about it all of a sudden?

For a long time she had had Killian written down as an irritating playboy who spent his time prowling the school with Regina looking to do nothing more than cause trouble and get with the ladies. Apart from his odd animosity with Mr Gold – which, again, she hadn’t thought much of since it was pretty usual to dislike a teacher – he’d never shown any indication of having anything strange on his plate.

She supposed she’d never really had the chance to look closely.

And if she was noticing this sort of thing about him, God knew what he was noticing about her. Nothing, hopefully. Regina really didn’t need any more bait.

“So,” he said after a little while. “Betrayal?”

She nodded, capping a highlighter. “Yep. I thought maybe we could put a different spin on it though. People always talk about betrayal in Hamlet in terms of how his friends and family all spied on him, and how Claudius betrayed Old Hamlet by killing him – the really clear cut sort of thing, you know?”

“What are you thinking?”

“I guess,” she began, and then paused, hesitant. Wondered if she was projecting too much, if maybe going into this subject would get her in too deep.

Killian was watching her expectantly, and she decided to push through with it, though she kept her gaze firmly trained on the front cover of Hamlet. On the picture of the skull, glistening ghastly white.

“I guess Hamlet was betrayed in another way, too. By being abandoned. Not physically abandoned, but… emotionally? I mean, his father _died_ and his mum and uncle were just telling him to get over it. They weren’t supportive at all. I think maybe… well, it could be argued that he felt really alone and that played into the decisions he made. He didn’t really have anyone to just listen, or advise him, or snap some sense into him. Ros and Guild were meant to be his friends, but they weren’t there. Even the ghost only appeared to him when it wanted something…” she trailed off, feeling awkward all of a sudden, her voice seeming too loud in the silent library.

“What about Horatio?” Killian asked softly.

“Much as I love Horatio, he was not the most helpful friend in the world. If you look at the textual evidence- you never see how he feels about what’s going on. Because he never tells Hamlet, at least not onstage. He never tells Hamlet if what he’s doing is right, or even tries to, you know, cheer him up a bit.”

“That’s certainly not a view I’ve heard of him before,” Killian mused, but when Emma looked up he wasn’t concentrating on his books. He was looking at her.

She had heard many times that eyes were the window to the soul, but right now, it went both ways. She felt as though his gaze was boring right into her, shining a light into the roiling pit of memories and feelings that, over time, she had squashed down, packed tight and compartmentalised, buried deep where no one could see.

It made her shiver, made her feel almost sick.

“I,” she began, but he cut in.

“I agree.” His gaze snapped away, looked down at the table. “Abandonment. It… affects you. Probably more than anything else.” She fell silent, transfixed by his words. “Hamlet doesn’t even trust his own _mother_. That doesn’t come from nowhere. How much different would things have turned out if she had just tried to understand? If she’d looked at his needs over hers. If she’d waited longer to marry Claudius, if at all. If she’d sat him down and asked why he was behaving so strangely instead of just spying on him to find out…”

“If she’d cared,” Emma said, almost a whisper.

“Yeah.” Killian’s voice was soft, almost an echo of hers.

They sat in an odd silence that was not tense nor companionable. Emma felt hyper-aware of his presence beside her. The sound of his breaths in the otherwise silent library. The rough sleeve of his polo a few millimetres from the bare skin of her arm.

The fact that they were both avoiding looking at each other.

_How did he know_ , she thought. How did he put into words exactly what she had been thinking?

Finally Killian cleared his throat a bit awkwardly.

“Miss French won’t agree,” he declared then, with a nervous sort of laugh. “She’s really into the whole Gertrude-as-a-power-woman theory. Marrying Claudius to keep her hand in the power pot, that sorta thing. Also, act 5 kind of redeems her a bit.”

“Yeahhh,” Emma replied, glad for the switch in topic. “But she’s not the sort of teacher who’ll take marks away just because she disagrees with an interpretation. Not like Ms Blue.”

“Christ, Ms Blue.” He ran a hand over his face. “Flashbacks to year 10 final exam.”

“God, don’t remind me. I lost 3 marks for not mentioning Lady Macbeth’s soliloquy even though it had _nothing_ to do with my thesis.”

“She did the _exact same thing_ to me!” he cried with excitement.

For a moment Emma felt the bright flare of camaraderie that always came with shared unfair exam results. They stared at each other in united indignation. Killian looked away first, turning back to his book and fidgeting a bit. He looked almost embarrassed for some reason, which confused her.

“Back to work then?” he asked.

Emma nodded. This time, they worked in a companionable quiet, broken now and then by a question or comment. She was surprised by how well they worked together, quickly compromising on any aspects of the play they disagreed on, sharing ideas with a seamless ease.

It was interesting seeing Killian study out of the context of school. In the lessons they shared, when he wasn’t talking back to the teacher (in the case of Mr Gold), he was either sitting in his corner not contributing to class discussions, or getting told off for talking too loudly with his friends.

Now, however, he was just getting down to business, occasionally pausing to drum his fingers against the table, stare intently at a quote in the book and chew idly on the eraser at the end of his pencil.

She found she liked him much better this way.

 

* * *

 

Emma had lost track of time, and when her mobile rang loudly in her bag, she jumped so violently that she knocked over the bottle of water on the table beside her. A few library-goers drifting around the area gave her dirty looks for the noise, and she hurried to answer the call.

“Parents?” Killian asked with a raised eyebrow once she lowered the phone.

“…yeah,” Emma replied after a moment’s hesitation. It was far easier to just call them her parents than to go into the details of the situation. “She wants me to grab some groceries before I head back. Oh, wow, it’s four o’clock already.”

Killian startled and checked his watch. “Huh. Lost track of time.”

Emma perused the work on the table before them – a quite lengthy document on her laptop and a scattering of sheets of paper. They’d gotten some solid work done today, had written up various essay-style paragraphs, analysed quotes and gotten started on a couple of character studies.

“We got quite a bit done,” she said.

Killian nodded, looking rather pleased. “I’ll high-five to that,” he said, raising a hand expectantly. Emma stared at it, considered, then shrugged and high-fived him with a small smile. So sue her, she liked getting ahead on her assignments.

They packed up in silence and walked out of the library together. There was a shopping centre just across the road, and Emma paused at the crossing.

“Are you catching the bus?” she asked with a glance at the stop.

He shook his head. “I live near here. I’ll walk you to the store.”

“Uh, okay. Thanks,” she replied, a little taken aback.

She realised (halfway through crossing the road, marvellous timing Emma) that she had no idea what Killian thought of her.

She knew that Regina disliked her, and that Sidney disliked her purely out of loyalty to Regina. That Victor messed with her because he was an idiot and found it amusing. That Kathryn and Smee just went along with whatever their friends did.

But Killian… until recently she had assumed that he disliked her as well, enough to behave obnoxiously towards her. Now she wasn’t so sure.

“What do you need to get?” he asked conversationally as they entered the store.

“Milk, bread, some spices and stuff.” She picked up a basket and Killian instantly held out his hand to take it. She paused. As a general rule she didn’t like other people to do stuff for her, especially mundane things she was perfectly capable of doing herself.

At the same time, however, some small part of herself almost wanted to give him the chance to prove himself as a nice guy.

“Don’t leave me hanging, Swan,” he said with a laugh, and she shrugged and handed the basket over.

“Thanks,” she said.

It was almost surreal wandering through the grocery store with Killian at her side.

_Oh God_ , she realised abruptly. _Are we becoming friends?_

She quashed this pretty quickly, though. It took a long time to earn her friendship. A few shared laughs, forced teamwork and a single act of chivalry wasn’t enough to cut it.

She had to grudgingly admit, however, that she was perhaps leaning towards categorising him as an acquaintance rather than an enemy. Maybe. She’d see.

“You doing anything else this weekend?” he asked conversationally, which abruptly brought last night flooding back to her. She still hadn’t asked him about Neal.

She shook her head. “Not really. I might meet up with Mary Margaret and study or go shopping or something. No solid plans. Why? You?”

He shrugged. “Not really. Work. Study. Might hang out with some of my group.”

“Wow,” she couldn’t help teasing, “I can’t believe it. Killian Jones’ social calender isn’t full to bursting?”

He huffed out a laugh. “Believe it or not, love, I’m busier with more productive things than partying and hanging around looking brooding and handsome.”

“My life is a lie.”

“Don’t worry, I’m still brooding and handsome – I just do it from behind the counter of Video Rental Plus.”

She snorted loudly as she reached for a packet of mixed spices high on the shelf. _Okay. Imma do it. I shall ask about Neal. With complete nonchalance._

“I went out last night,” she said casually. “Family birthday thing. I don’t normally do much on Fridays though.”

“Hmmm,” was all he said. “A lot of people from our school go clubbing on Fridays. Or to parties, if they’re on.”

“Do you do that?”

“Sometimes. If I feel like it.” He reached up and picked up a packet that was a little out of her reach, dropping it into the basket. “Not really your group’s scene?”

“Nah. Well, Ruby, sometimes.”

He grinned. “Ah yes, Ruby. I like her!”

She rolled her eyes. “You would. What about last night? No parties?”

His eyebrows rose slowly. She could see the cogs turning in his head as he seemed to wonder about her sudden curiosity. He had to know. He had to be trying to work out what to say.

“I went out to laser tag last night,” he said finally, and his gaze darting sporadically between her and the dairy aisle. “With some people from school.”

“Your group?” she asked. Neal had hated them, Regina especially. Killian was the only one he hadn’t met.

“Nah. I’ve got some friends at Storybrooke High.”

“Oh. Really?”

“Yeah,” he said. He glanced at her again, and it took a moment for it to click, but then Emma realised.

He was trying to avoid talking about Neal. But not out of guilt – after all, it wasn’t like he’d done anything wrong. What happened between Neal and Emma was between Neal and Emma, no one else.

He was trying to avoid bringing him up for _Emma’s_ sake. Presumably because of her… less than sublime reaction that first day in English.

Well, damn.

“Got everything you need?” he asked, and she could only nod, trying to quash down the odd warm feeling that had spread through her stomach.

“Sweet. Let’s go then. Self-checkout, it’s the way of the future.”

They headed over, Emma still frantically trying to puzzle him out. Why? Why was he being so nice? Why was he refusing to stay in the neatly categorised box that she had shoved him into after multiple impressions?

“Everything okay?” he asked, frowning a little, and Emma snapped out of it, realising she’d been oddly silent with thought.

“Yeah. Fine. Just thinking.” She commenced with her groceries, proceeded smoothly for about a minute, and was then told off by the machine due to an “unexpected item in bagging area.”

“Dude,” she said, turning to Killian. “You’re leaning on the machine.”

“Eh? Oh!” He sprang away, and she couldn’t help it, she burst out laughing.

“What?” he demanded with faux indignation. “ _What_?”

“You… get paid… to operate these things…” she gasped. Oh God, it wasn’t even that funny. It was just so _ridiculous_ , and perhaps she was a little hysterical, perhaps she was just over things refusing to settle in the way she wanted them to – Neal. Killian. Killian, with his surprises and study habits and that awful uncanny moment where he seemed to have reached into her very soul and just perfectly understood the exact way she identified with the play. Killian and the _stupid checkout machine_ – it really, really wasn’t that funny.

Except now he was grinning too, wide and unrestrained and looking more genuine than she had ever seen him.

She straightened up finally, rubbing her stomach.

“I’ve never seen you laugh that hard at anything,” he commented, and there was something almost gentle in his tone.

She shook her head. “You’re stupid,” she informed him, intelligently, and his grin just got even wider.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Hamlet in this chapter - not my personal interpretation of the play by any means, but I’m trying to look at it from the perspective of two damaged teens who project too much ;P


	5. Seed

Mondays were one of Emma's least favourite days, as she had a morning class and no study periods.

She also realised, upon checking her timetable, that she was not in any classes with Killian today. She felt oddly disappointed and couldn't quite figure out why, eventually putting it down to the fact that on Sunday night she'd been rereading the play attempting to memorise quotes and managed to figure out the turning point they'd been talking about.

As it was, she ran into Killian in period one.

She was crossing the plaza, heading for the main office, when she spied him standing amongst a group of other students near the labs. It seemed his chemistry class were having some sort of outdoor lesson, their teacher waving a hand enthusiastically at the community garden nearby.

He noticed her passing and glanced up, giving her a grin and a discreet wave.

She waved back, and okay, by now she had to admit he had pretty much officially passed out of 'enemy' territory. You didn't wave to people you disliked.

Victor, standing beside Killian, had noticed their interaction, and as Emma watched he nudged Killian with his elbow and leaned in to mutter something in his ear. Whatever it was, it made him flush and duck his head before kicking Victor in the shin.

The main office of Queenhart Grammar was not usually frequented by students – that's what the student office was for. You only really went there if you needed to hand in your school fees or similar administrative things. Or, in the case of Emma, to pick up and photocopy some past papers for her economics teacher.

Within the building were several corridors lined with the offices of specific teachers, along with the school bursar and nurse, and several photocopying and storage rooms. Emma found herself hovering inside the office of Mr Clark, HSIE coordinator, as he rummaged through his desk searching for the papers.

“Sorry, sorry,” he kept saying. “They're in here somewhere.”

“No rush,” Emma replied. Truth be told, she was quite relieved to get out of class for a bit.

Finally Clark emerged, waving the booklet triumphantly. “There. I'll just go and copy it for you.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

Whereupon he left her standing awkwardly alone in the room, waiting for him to come back.

A minute later, she heard voices approaching along the corridor. She assumed it was just two teachers passing by – but they suddenly stopped just outside Clark's office, presumably pausing to have a conversation.

“-just don't know what to do. I'm really worried.”

It took her a minute to recognise the voice. _Doctor Hopper_.

“He's been fine in class,” Ms Blue's voice replied.

“I know. But it's been two years now and I've made absolutely no progress. He refuses to talk to me...” he sighed. “There's not much I can say without breaching confidentiality, but it's just so frustrating. Milah was getting through to him so well. When I compare her files to mine – I've got absolutely _nothing_.”

_I shouldn't be listening to this_ , Emma thought. She had no idea who they were talking about, but still felt uneasy at the thought of hearing what was an obviously private conversation. She had nowhere to go, though, was stuck twiddling her thumbs until Clark returned.

“Maybe he's fine,” Ms Blue said. “Forcing him to sit in those sessions could only be making things worse.”

“It's Cora's idea, not mine. And he's not fine. I can see it. All that anger, it's still there. He's stopped acting out as vigorously, but I can't help but feel like it's all a front. Something's up.” A heavy sigh. “And Mr Gold egging him on all the time is just completely not helping.”

_Mr Gold?_ It took a moment for it to register, then Emma froze. Killian. They were talking about Killian.

She heard Ms Blue give a few disapproving tuts.

“His grades are up, at least,” she declared.

“Yes, but so are the number of detentions. And not just for uniforms this time. Things like talking back, falling asleep in class. I've tried to ring his home about five times but no one ever picks up.” Another sigh. “God. I'll keep on keeping on, but at this point I feel like I'm not even helping at all...”

The voices trailed off as they finally continued moving down the corridor.

Emma realised she had bunched the sleeves of her school jumper into her fists, squeezing them tightly. She forced herself to relax, feeling abruptly guilty for eavesdropping, even if it had been unintentional.

Before she could even start to think about what she'd heard, Clark returned, bustling back into the room and making her jump. She returned to class feeling dazed, a mixture of curiosity and, oddly, concern brewing in the pit of her stomach.

The day rolled by quickly and uneventfully.

“Any news on the Neal front?” Ruby asked as the final bell rang at last. Emma appreciated her bluntness. Like ripping off a bandaid, it made her feel like there was absolutely nothing to be concerned about.

“Nope,” she replied. “Looks like he's staying well away.”

“Good.” Ruby gave an almost feral sort of grin. “As he should be. I'll see you tomorrow, then.”

“Bye,” Emma replied. She was halfway to the gate when she remembered she had to put something in the fees box, and turned back, opting to take a short cut between the staff parking lot and the back of the science labs. It was usually an out of bounds area, but she figured that since school was over, no one probably cared.

To her surprise, she wasn't the only one there. Having spied two figures lurking behind one of the buildings, she assumed it was some seniors hanging around smoking, but as she got closer she realised it was Killian and Regina.

“I'm not giving up,” Regina was saying. They were standing facing each other, turned away from Emma slightly. “Just acknowledging that this isn't working. We might have to take more... drastic measures.”

“Like what?” Killian replied. He sounded irritated, almost stressed. “I already broke my bloody wrist the last time we went 'drastic', as you so charmingly call it.”

“That was due to your own stupidity,” she said with a sniff. “Look, he's too smart. That's the problem. He's too careful. He doesn't leave stuff lying around.”

“What are you suggesting?”

“That we-” And there Regina broke off, having spied Emma. Her face clouded over and she strode towards her angrily. “What do you think you're doing here?”

“I was passing through,” she replied, annoyance flaring. Earlier today in Biology Regina had deliberately knocked Emma's calculator off her desk and now it refused to enter log functions.

“Well, go ahead and pass on through then,” Regina snapped, waving an arm across the parking lot in mocking invitation.

Emma glanced at Killian. He wasn't looking at her, staring instead at one of the buildings nearby. Emma followed his gaze and frowned as she realised where they were.

While most teachers had their offices within the main office building, the year coordinators were scattered around other parts of the school. In this particular case, beside the science labs. The window on the wall behind them led, if she wasn't mistaken, into Mr Gold's office.

“Are you waiting for something, Miss Swan?” Regina demanded impatiently.

Emma glared at her. “Yeah, why are you two lingering back here like a bad smell?”

“That's none of your business-”

Regina broke off as Killian pressed her arm.

“The usual,” he addressed Emma with a smile. He did an admirable job of making it look as non-forced as possible, but it didn't fool her. “Plotting world domination and all that.”

“Right.” She rolled her eyes and strode past, but heard a hushed conversation of whispers and hisses behind her before suddenly Killian was jogging to catch up to her side.

“Hey,” he said. “Can we talk?”

“About what?” she asked, perhaps a little sharply. She felt sick again, that odd disappointed feeling that she hated so much. Of course she hadn't forgotten that Killian was friends with the girl who she disliked most in the entire school. Of course.

“My apologies about that little... display back there,” he said, making her pull to a halt.

“What are you even sorry about?”

“Regina being... well, Regina.” The side of his mouth tugged up in a small smile. “Sometimes she forgets that it's her mum who owns the school, not her.”

Emma couldn't help but smile at that. The next thing she knew, there was a bunch of flowers hovering in front of her face and the sweet, pungent aroma of jasmine hit her nostrils.

“Um?” she said.

Killian continued to hold the flowers out. “As I said. Apologies on behalf of my friends?”

“You are ridiculous,” she informed him, but took them and tried to hide her smile. “Where did you get these, anyway?” She glanced around and spied a blossoming jasmine tree beside the science labs. “Did you literally just grab them off that bush over there?”

“It was a grand, impulsive gesture. Very Byronic.”

“Right.” She rolled her eyes, but couldn't help feeling pleased.

It wasn't as though her friends never did nice things for her. Just... nothing like this. Nothing so spontaneous and charming and, well, _endearing_.

She lifted the flowers to her nose to smell – jasmine always had a nice, sweet scent – and Killian smiled, looking like the cat who'd gotten the cream. She was surprised when they passed the school's side gate and he didn't leave, instead continuing to walk by her side in companionable silence.

The fees box was inside the main office, and as soon as she stepped into the building, Emma abruptly recalled what she had overheard this morning. She glanced discreetly at Killian, wondering if she should say something about it, but quickly realised that wouldn't be very tactful.

They were on their way back out when they bumped into Belle, coming out of the staff room.

“Hi Miss,” Emma said.

Belle glanced at them and did a bit of a double take, looking almost surprised to see them together outside of class. It was pretty common knowledge amongst the teachers that Mary Margaret and Regina hated each other, and thus, by extension, their groups. She must have known this when she paired them together for the assignment; as it was a smile spread across her face.

“Hi! How're you two going with the assessment?”

“Good,” Emma replied, glancing at Killian. “We got quite a bit of it done over the weekend, actually.”

“There's a lot to cover with our theme though,” Killian added. “Since it pretty much includes every character.”

She nodded. “I'm look forward to seeing it! Email me if you have any questions.” She wandered off down the hall.

“Speaking of the English,” Emma said as they returned outside. “I found the turning point last night – or at least, what I think the turning point is.”

“Really? That's great! Pray share.”

“Do you need to catch the bus?” They had reached the front gate by now.

He shook his head. “I can walk you home if you want. Then we can discuss the assignment.”

She blinked a few times, a little startled by the offer. “Um... what about Regina?”

He flapped a hand dismissively. “She'll be fine. She's hanging around for Principal Mills to take her home.”

“Okay then,” Emma replied dubiously. They turned out of school and down the street. She wondered if this counted as hanging out. Because the library and the store had been one thing, but this – walking home with him – it was something she normally only did with her friends.

Anyway. No point obsessing over it.

“Right,” she said. “Well. Obviously by the time Claudius gives his confession speech, Hamlet's hanging out to kill him, but he still gives excuses. Then he kills Polonius, thinking that he's Claudius, which I guess shows a resolve to actually go through with things – but right after that he agrees to be sent to England. He literally starts travelling _away_ from his target.”

Killian nodded. “Yep. This is just before the ' _how all occasions_ ' speech, right?”

“Yeah. So then he sees Fortinbras and starts angsting all about how he _still_ hasn't gotten around to his revenge, but then rather than turning back around and going back and killing Claudius, he continues on going to England.” She shook her head, huffing out a laugh at the extent of the tragic hero's procrastination.

“But when he gets back from England he's determined to do it,” Killian mused. He had caught on quickly. “And he doesn't even feel bad about it. _Is't not perfect conscience to quit him with this arm_ and all that.”

She blinked. “You started memorising quotes already?”

“Yeah, I'm getting a head start for the exam. So the turning point must have been between leaving Denmark and returning. What happened there?”

“He found out Claudius had sent him away to kill him,” she said, “So he went back to Denmark with the pirates.”

“The pirates?” Killian asked.

“Yeah, the really convenient pirates who conveniently attacked their ship and then agreed to take him back. He mentions them in the letter to Horatio.”

“Right. I remember now. So that's the turning point then? After he finds the letter saying that Claudius wants him executed?”

“Yeah. He makes the decision while with the pirates.”

“Great! We can stick that in the middle of the collage then. A pirate ship sailing through the moral grey domino soup.”

She barked out a laugh and elbowed him, drawing much spluttered faux indignation as he clutched his cast like she had mortally wounded him.

“Will you shut up about that, it was a _metaphor_!”

“Alright, alright. I'm just teasing, love.”

They crossed the road and promptly arrived at Emma's house, a little brick semi-detached on a quiet suburban street, the front yard a blend of neat lawn and paving stone. Emma fished out her key as she reached the front gate, and Killian glanced over at the empty driveway.

“Your parents home?” he asked.

“No, not till later this evening. I sometimes hang around in the library after school if I really need to get work done.” She paused, suddenly reluctant to go inside and end their conversation. It could get quite lonely sitting in the house alone for a few hours.

“They both work?”

“Leroy works. Astrid works part time but she normally goes out and volunteers at the soup kitchen, or visits the nursing home on days when she doesn't,” Emma replied. It wasn't until the words were already out that she realised she had automatically referred to her guardians by their given names.

“You call your parents by their first names?” Killian asked curiously.

Emma froze. She wasn't quite sure what to say. As a general rule she didn't enjoy talking about her home situation; it was too complicated and not a particularly pleasant subject to discuss. While her close friends knew the details, pretty much no one else really did.

“I'm adopted,” she said finally, except Killian frowned a bit. He was giving her the same intent look he had in the library when she started explaining her reading of betrayal in Hamlet.

“And you started calling them that when you found out?” He sounded genuinely interested, which was the only reason she decided to reply.

“No.” She stared down at the latch on the gate, taking her time sliding it open. “I... only moved in with them recently. Well, if you call the start of year seven recent, but... I was still too old to even begin to pretend they were my real parents. I guess they're more of my guardians, really, but it's easier to just refer to them as parents.”

“I see,” he said. His eyes had softened, looking at her with a gentle expression. Not pitying. Just tenderly interested and perhaps a little sad. “What're they like?”

She blinked. “They're... nice? Astrid is... great, really gentle, really sweet. Leroy's grumpy, but in a funny way. They're both really good people.”

“Good. That's good.” He nodded to himself.

Emma wasn't quite sure what to make of this conversation any more.

“Do your parents work?” she asked, at a loss as to what to say.

Killian stiffened visibly.

“I don't have a mother,” he said after a brief hesitation. “Died in childbirth.”

“Oh. I'm sorry.”

And she felt it again, the sudden brief surge of connection, as when he'd spoken about abandonment, putting words to all her lingering secret thoughts. The sudden awareness of his proximity, of the doe-like hurt in his eyes of old wounds unhealed.

_I don't have a mother._

Neither did she.

He raised and lowered his shoulder. “My dad works,” he said, quickly – a lie, she realised, but it was too personal a subject for her to call him out on it. Confusion quickly swept away all other feelings, because that was a rather random thing to lie about.

“I should get home,” he declared, and she nodded, feeling suddenly awkward.

“Yeah – yeah. Thanks for walking me back,” she added, and this time she was the first to smile. Killian's face brightened visibly, and he took a few paces back before sweeping into a dramatic bow. Having one hand in a sling rather ruined the effect, and it made Emma chuckle.

“My pleasure, fair lady. When shall you grace me with your presence again?”

“We have English tomorrow,” she replied, flapping a hand at his antics. “Actually... after school some of my friends and I were thinking of going to the library to study. If you're not busy, you could come with and we can get some more work done?”

He looked considering, and Emma wondered if he'd accept. If he had invited her along to study with Regina and Sidney and the others, she probably would have laughed in his face. As it was, he fished his phone out of his pocket, presumably checking his schedule, before shrugging.

“Alright. Should be fine.” He paused, then gave her a grin that could only be described as wicked. “Should be _fun._ ”

She pointed a finger at him warningly. “Okay, I don't trust that look. Don't make me regret asking you.”

“I shall be on my very best behaviour.” He glanced at his phone again and grimaced. “And if I don't want to miss the 103 bus, I shall have to run very fast! See you tomorrow!” He was already turning and jogging, giving her a hurried wave, and she laughed, waving back.

She felt strangely giddy as she entered the house, and when she reached her bedroom she realised she was still holding the flowers he had given her. She knew that they would brown within a few days, having been picked fairly clumsily, but she still put them in a little tub of water, just to make them last.

 

* * *

 

 “What?” David asked, slowly, as though he wasn't quite sure he'd heard right.

“Killian's coming to the library with us,” Emma explained patiently. She closed her locker and swung her bag up over her shoulder. “We'll meet him at the front gate.”

“But _why_?” Poor David just looked so confused, and Emma felt a bit bad for finding it amusing.

“Because we're working on our English assignment together? Look, he's not actually that bad. Or at least, he's been fine lately. He's committed to not-failing, at least.”

“Today in legal studies he and Victor made Mr Darling so angry that he had to leave the room for a few moments to calm down,” Mary Margaret said flatly.

Emma pressed her lips together and shrugged. Still, she couldn't help feeling a little bit worried about what was about to go down.

Killian was already waiting at the gate when they arrived. He waved when he saw Emma, and grinned when he saw the other two.

“Emma,” he said with a nod. “David. Mary Margaret.”

“Killian,” David replied gruffly. Mary Margaret just looked between Killian and Emma with furrowed brows.

“To the library, then?” Killian asked, with almost obnoxious pleasantness, and they strode on.

The walk to the library was only a few blocks, but by God was it the most awkward walk Emma had ever been on. Nobody spoke. David eyed Killian suspiciously. Mary Margaret watched David worriedly. Killian just grinned like he was finding the whole thing incredibly amusing, and Emma was caught between the three of them.

As they approached the library, Killian shifted closer to Emma.

“This is fun,” he whispered, and she rolled her eyes.

“Well, you can hardly expect them to _like_ you.”

“Argh!” he clapped his hand to his chest. “Christ, lass. That went straight to the heart. I'm gutted. So gutted.”

“Idiot,” she huffed, with a small smile. It faded slightly when she saw Mary Margaret eying the two of them curiously.

They entered and found a table. Emma sat down beside Killian and fished out her books. They had already done some work in English today, and were pretty much just writing up paragraphs now and starting to plan out how to format the collage.

The silence stretched on. It seemed everybody felt too awkward to even speak about their work, until finally Killian turned to Emma and said,

“So. Laertes.”

“Laertes?” she asked.

“Yeah. We should do a comparison piece between the choice he made to get revenge instantly, and the one Hamlet made to go and look for evidence and proof first.”

She nodded. “Okay. I'll get started on that and you continue with that Claudius stuff we were working on in class today.”

The silence broken, David and Mary Margaret proceeded to begin talking about their own project.

“What if Gertrude was cheating on Old Hamlet?” Mary Margaret mused. “It seems strange that she'd so suddenly fall for Claudius.”

“It's a possibility,” David replied. “And that'd give an interesting twist to her relationship with Claudius. Maybe she even knew about the murder-”

“She didn't,” Killian cut in, and they both looked up at him.

“What?” David asked.

“Act 3 scene 4, line 29. ' _As kill a king_?' Genuine rhetorical question. In a different edition, there was a line where Hamlet brings it up again and Gertrude says she never knew about it.”

David glared. “So maybe she was lying. Didn't want him to know she was in on it.”

“What would be the point of that? He already thought she was a harlot for marrying Claudius.”

Emma made a small noise of disapproval, and Killian glanced at her apologetically.

“Besides,” he continued, “She wouldn't have murdered her husband. She didn't love Claudius that much – act 5 she practically turns against him anyway.”

“Last minute remorse,” David snapped. “And anger at his trying to kill her son! Besides, we're meant to be analysing every different perspective, not just the ones we like!”

“Not at the expense of ignoring textual evidence,” Killian replied hotly.

“How about you mind your own business and do your own work instead of bothering us and leaving Emma to do it all?”

Killian leaned his chair back on its hind legs, laughing bitterly. “Oh, that's rich. I've been doing my fair share, haven't I lass?” He glanced at Emma and she raised her hands.

“I'm not getting in the middle of this man-fight. But yes, he has.”

“Well, if she didn't love Claudius, why did she marry him?” David demanded, apparently determined to have the last word.

“Lust? Loneliness? I'm not defending what she did, I just think love is a bit of a strong word.”

“Oh, what would you know about it.”

Killian's chair slammed back to the floor. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” he snapped.

“You're with a new girl every second day, forgive me for not exactly considering you an expert on deep, true love.” David's voice softened at these last words as he rested his hand on Mary Margaret's atop the table.

Killian gave a snort so mighty that he nearly choked on his own spittle. “Christ, so just because we're not all as sickeningly sugar sweet as you two means we know nothing about love?”

“No 'we', just 'you',” David replied. “You don't exactly have a reputation as _consistent and dependable_ , Jones!”

For a moment Emma thought this was about to break into a full on fight. Feelings would be hurt, punches possibly thrown, and she wondered if she ought to intervene. But then Killian spoke again:

“You're being awfully aggressive. One could almost say too aggressive. Are you sure you're not challenged by me? Or maybe you're just angry because my experiment worked in that prac test we had this morning and yours didn't!”

The tension in the room fell about twenty notches as the argument abruptly turned less personal.

“No!” David replied angrily. “And maybe my experiment wouldn't have failed if _someone_ hadn't messed with all the bunsen burners!”

“Messed with them? That would be bad form.”

“So why was the rubber tubing all broken?”

“It's hard to attach it with one hand! Not my fault they weren't of high enough quality to withstand a little roughage-”

“So _ask for help_! Or is your ego too big...”

They continued to snipe at each other across the table, immature little pot shots that had Emma wondering whether to laugh or face palm.

God. She should have expected this to happen. There was far too much bad blood between the two groups, and far too high levels of machoness in the two boys, for things to not spill out into a conflict. But still – rather than being annoyed with Killian for deliberately provoking David, as she would have been only a week ago, she was starting to see how both sides were at fault for arguing. And rather than finding the fight annoying, it was almost amusing, now that she was looking at it from a reasonably objective standpoint. She found herself watching both boys with a feeling that could almost be called fondness.

Her gaze fell on Mary Margaret, who had been oddly silent through the chaos, and her amusement faded at the look on her friend's face.

She was watching Killian with a considering expression, her brows furrowed slightly in a little frown, and then she turned the same look towards Emma. It was the sort of face she wore the first time Emma talked to her about her experience in the foster system, the face she got whenever Regina did something particularly bad or David got stressed about his delinquent twin brother living across the country.

When the boys finally subsided, grumbling, Emma resolutely got back to work, but she couldn't quite ignore the sensation of Mary Margaret silently watching them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up, a certain crocodile's son may be entering the picture... ;)


	6. Hold

 Emma tapped the end of her pen against her chin as she considered the maths problem in front of her. Before she could get stuck into it, however, a piece of paper slid across the desk onto her book, courtesy of Killian.

She unfolded it quickly, eyes trailing across the scrawled lines of conversation to the most recent thing she'd written – ' _I've never been overseas. Do you have family in England?'_ – and his subsequent reply.

' _Nah. No one close, anyway. Both parents were only children. I don't think I'd want to go back there to live. Although there's better theatre over there'_

She smiled as she began to write a response. They had gotten talking in English the period before, and ended up sitting together in maths to continue their conversation via paper. It had quickly devolved away from discussion of the assignment into general chat.

She was surprised by just how much they didn't know about each other – little things you didn't think about when it came to people outside your close-knit circle of friends. The sort of books he read (modernist poets and a surprising number of classics). What he thought about the teachers and classes at their school (liked Mr Jefferson and history the best, Mr Gold and maths the least, was only taking chemistry because it scaled his mark up). Which of the people in his group he was the closest to (Smee and Victor).

They had both consciously made an effort to stay away from more personal topics, which Emma was grateful for. It was hard enough talking about such things with her close friends, let alone someone she had only started talking to a week ago.

Just as she was about to slide the paper back to Killian, a hand slammed down on the desk and she looked up to see Mr Gold.

“What's this, dearies?” he asked, picking it up and raising his eyebrows. “It doesn't look like maths to me.” 

She felt Killian stiffen beside her, but a moment later he leaned back in his chair and smirked easily up at Gold.

“We're not disrupting the rest of the class,” he said.

“You're not doing your work, either,” Mr Gold replied.

Killian held up his book and waved it. “But I am! I've almost finished all the assigned questions.”

“You haven't checked them yet. And I can't imagine you're putting your full attention into them when you're distracting both yourself and Emma here with _passing messages_.” He sneered. “You know the rules of my classroom. You do your work in here. When you go outside, then you can talk.”

“Maybe you should revise your rules then,” Killian said. _Oh God,_ thought Emma, _stop making this worse_. “Every student seems perfectly able to talk and work at the same time in other classes. If you ban talking, people start writing, and that's a lot harder to multitask.”

“Watch your tone, _Jones_.”

“Just pointing out the impracticality of it all, _sir_.”

Mr Gold stared at them both with a look of such distaste that Emma felt quite cold.

“Detention,” he said. “Both of you. This afternoon. Give me your planners, I'm writing a note to your parents to inform them.”

They handed over their planners in silence. Emma felt rather awkward; she didn't get in trouble much at school – or at least, over the last two years she hadn't – and it was always an unpleasant sensation. Especially since she knew Astrid and Leroy would be not angry, but disappointed.

Killian seemed to have no such qualms. He pulled a face when Mr Gold turned his back. 

The class was about to end anyway, and when the bell rang a few moments later everyone filed out except the two of them, waiting for Mr Gold to finish writing.

“3 o'clock,” he said finally, snapping his pen lid ominously shut. “And Killian, next lesson I want you back in the seat I assigned you.” He smiled mockingly. “I imagine it'll be a little harder to get away with throwing paper aeroplanes.”

He handed Emma her planner but tossed Killian's to him. The boy fumbled to catch it with one hand before it fell to the floor. Mr Gold walked out without looking back.

“Pretty sure there's a rulebook somewhere that says teachers aren't meant to chuck stuff at students,” Emma commented as she picked it up for him and dusted it off.

Killian shrugged. “What am I gonna do? Sue the school? Principal Mills is rich as heck.”

Emma gave him an odd look. Yes, Cora Mills was rich – but so were practically all the families at the school. Either rich or very well off. You had to be, to afford to go to Queenhart Grammar. It was a rather posh school.

“Sorry about getting you in trouble,” he added as they walked out.

She shook her head. “It wasn't your fault. I was writing notes too.”

“Aye, but if it hadn't been me sitting next to you, I guarantee you'd've been let off with a warning at most.”

“It's fine,” she assured him. “It's not like it's my first time getting a detention.”

He stared at her. “Really?”

“Yeah, man. Year nine I used to get them all the time for skipping class and stuff.”

He grinned wickedly. “I knew you weren't the total goody-goody that being in the company of Mary Margaret all the time made you seem to be.”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, please. Goody by association? Really?” 

“Well, you help her with all that extra stuff she does. Organising birthday gifts for teachers. Social justice meetings. Planting trees for the environment committee.”

“Yeah, but only cause she's my _friend_.” They paused as they reached the end of the hallway. Their homerooms and lockers were on opposite sides of the school.

“Will your parents – guardians? – be mad about the detention?” Killian asked her, looking concerned suddenly.

“Parents is fine. And no, not mad. Well, Leroy might be a bit annoyed. But it's fine, stop worrying about it. I guess I'll see you this afternoon then,” she said.

He nodded. Sidney had just walked out of a nearby classroom, and looked curious to see the two of them talking together, but he walked off with Killian and Emma was left to go find her own friends.

Ruby had a lunchtime debating meeting, so it was just Mary Margaret and David sitting at their usual table.

“Hi Emma! How was your class?” Mary Margaret asked as she sat down.

“Maths, and I may have gotten a detention,” she replied. “So I can't come study with you guys this afternoon, sorry.”

They glanced at each other, looking concerned more than anything else. Emma could understand why – as she'd told Killian, she had rarely gotten in trouble since Neal left – certainly never enough trouble to warrant a detention.

“A detention?” David asked incredulously. “What for?”

She decided that playing it cool was probably the best way to stop them making a fuss about it. “Passing notes, whatever.”

“Passing notes?” Mary Margaret looked tremendously confused. With good reason. It just wasn't something Emma usually _did_ now. “With who?”

“Uh, Killian.” 

They exchanged another look, the sort of look that Emma always despised. The we're-concerned-about-you look. She knew that, objectively, it was because they cared that they worried about her, but at the same time she always found it a bit embarrassing. Perhaps because she'd gotten by for so long on her own that when someone took the time to look out for her, she never quite knew how to react.

“We've been meaning to talk to you about Killian,” David said slowly.

“What do you mean, talk to me about him?” Emma asked, wary.

“Emma...” Mary Margaret leaned forward. “We're worried you're getting too close to him.”

“Too close? What the hell is that supposed to mean? What, like he's some sort of _disease_?” She lowered the sandwich she'd been unwrapping, appetite suddenly vanishing. “Do you guys _honestly_ think I could misjudge someone to the extent that you should be _worried_ about it?”

“That's not what we're saying,” Mary Margaret said, a pleading note in her voice. “Just – remember Aurora? She kept saying the exact same things you keep telling us now. He's not that bad, he's nice really, he's different to Regina.He cares about me. He's my _friend_. And all the time he was just reeling her in for Regina to suck dry and then spit back out once they got what they wanted from her!”

“That's not- he's not- ugh!” She couldn't find a way to articulate what she felt – wasn't sure she _wanted_ to.

Because it hurt, that her friends could think she would let Killian in close enough for him to hurt her in any way.

They were treating her like she was a child. Like they were forgetting just how badly she had been burned in the past – both before, during and after Neal. Like they'd forgotten exactly how deeply that had affected her, and dismissing the fact that it was _still_ affecting her. That this friendship with Killian – and it was friendship, by this point, to call it anything else would be denial – was just an ordinary friendship.

Even if she wanted to let him in deeper, she couldn't. Her walls were built too high and too strong.

And Mary Margaret and David should have known that. Should have considered that _before_ they broke out the lectures as though they were her parents.

“Emma, we just don't want you to be disappointed. To end up getting hurt.” Mary Margaret looked so earnest that Emma really couldn't be mad at her. She knew her friends weren't lying. That they were genuinely worried.

It was just... frustrating.

All this time and they still didn't understand her.

“It's fine,” she said stiffly. “But you really don't need to worry about it. I'm not gonna let my guard down and go all BFF with him. But right now he's being half-decent and I actually enjoy his company, so...”

“Okay,” Mary Margaret said. “Just be careful.”

David hadn't spoken, but he was watching Emma with an almost fierce look that she appreciated. He wouldn't get involved, she knew – but he would be there to have her back if things did end up going down messily.

 

* * *

  

That afternoon Emma was reminded of exactly why she hated detention so much. She had a study period in her last class of the day, and normally she would have been allowed to go home, but in this case she had to hang around until 3 o'clock.

When school finally ended she trudged through the playground to the demountable where detentions were held. She shoved down the feelings of nostalgia that rose up – year nine and scorching summer days, heat and dust rising off the concrete plaza, Neal by her side bemoaning how they'd gotten caught sneaking off during lunchtime or skipping out on PE.

The demountables weren't air conditioned, and when she stepped inside she was hit with a wave of muggy heat that almost made it hard to breathe. Killian was already sprawled at a desk in the corner, blazer slung over the back of his chair. He was folding a sheet of cardboard into a paper fan.

“Greetings,” he said, and wafted some air in her direction.

She came and sat beside him, stripping off her own blazer with a groan. When she turned to hang it over her chair, she saw Killian had been watching her, and he darted his gaze away almost guiltily.

A spattering of other students who had gotten into trouble trickled into the room – mostly junior boys, probably caught vandalising the bathrooms or using their phones in class. To her relief, it was Mr Jefferson who walked in moments later, rather than any of the stricter teachers.

“Alright folks,” he said, clapping his hands together for silence. “You know the rules. Get some homework done, no talking, no laptops.”

“Sir,” Killian called out, waving a hand. 

“What?”

“Emma and I have a group project we're working on, can we do that? We can work outside if the talking will distract other people.”

Mr Jefferson flapped a hand. “Yeah, as long as you stay near the door and don't talk too loudly. And I'll be checking at the end to make sure you got some work done.”

Emma packed up her books and sighed with relief as they left the humidity of the demountable for the marginally cooler outside. “He was surprisingly laid back.”

“Nah, it's Mr Jefferson. Besides, he's had me for detention heaps of times, he knows I actually get some work done.”

“So this has now become more of an extended English class than a punishment.”

“Don't tell Mr Gold,” he said with a wink. “Besides, I thought spending any more time with me than necessary was a punishment in your eyes?”

She opened her mouth and promptly realised she had no idea what to say. Admitting that she had come to see him as a friend was... well, she wasn't sure what it was, except that she'd feel a bit awkward doing it.

“Most repulsive specimen of humanity in the entire school, I believe were the words you used,” he teased, and she flapped a hand at him.

“I may have revised my opinion, but I could be persuaded to change it back.”

“Yikes. I'd best behave then.” He settled down on the ground, his back resting against the demountable wall. “Shall we get started?”

They had already done quite a bit of work in their English lesson earlier that day, and were now mostly just fleshing out what they had brainstormed.

“Lack of connection,” Emma mused after a while, as she finished up a paragraph.

Killian looked up. “Sorry?”

“Just thinking out loud. Hamlet and his father... he obviously looked up to him a whole lot, given the way he goes on about him. But I get the feeling that there wasn't a whole lot of actual connection there.... especially since Old Hamlet puts all that pressure on him to avenge him. I mean, I know it's in-context and everything, but what sort of father _does_ that? And all of the things Hamlet says about him are about how great he was as a king, and his connection with Gertrude – but nothing about the relationship with Hamlet himself.”

Killian nodded, but didn't say anything.

“Same with Ophelia. There's no connection with Polonius at all – not a truly loving one, anyway. But when their dads die... well, Ophelia snaps and Hamlet goes into existential crisis mode x 100. It could be a line of argument that the desire for connection influenced their behaviour – intensified it, if you will.” 

“That's why Ophelia agreed to spy on Hamlet? Seeking her father's approval?” Killian asked.

Emma nodded. “Yeah.”

“It's a solid argument.” He glanced at her, hesitated as though unsure, then said, “the desire for connection can be a strong motivator.”

“But it all ends in tears,” Emma said, suddenly hit with a wave of melancholy.

If it had been anyone else – Mary Margaret or David or just some random from class – she might have switched the subject. Brought up another theme or turned back to her work.

But Killian...

Seeing him sitting there with the same look on his face that she was sure was mirrored on hers – as though he'd just been hit with a wave of memories and sensations from long ago that he simultaneously recoiled from and wanted to work through – like he'd gotten his head stuck too deep in the play and the past and was struggling to pull it back- 

He understood.

And that felt... almost comforting.

“Maybe things would have gone better if that connection wasn't there,” he said quietly. “I mean, it's probably not what Shakespeare was trying to tell us, but one lesson you could get from this is that alone is-”

“Safer,” she finished, and he nodded.

There was a moment of silence as they both stared at their books.

Finally Killian snorted. “Makes you realise why it's still relevant to the modern day, doesn't it?”

She nodded. “Yeah. I guess for a text to survive for so long, people have to keep identifying with it.”

“Hamlet's a good one for that. We've all got a bit of Hamlet in us.” He scratched idly at the dirt ground with the end of his pen. “Which makes looking at this stuff intriguing, but also kind of... I don't know.” 

“I guess you could call it cathartic.”

He looked up at her. They were sitting quite close, and the day was so bright that his pupils were dilated and she could see her reflection staring back at her in his eyes. She was surprised by how relaxed she looked, how calm, considering what they had just been talking about.

“Yeah,” he said, and gave a crooked grin. “Cathartic. You should try Plath, actually,” he added, and then gave a considering nod. “Yes – I think you'd really like Plath.”

“I don't read poetry much,” she admitted.

“She has one novel. But I think you'd like her poems. Try Ariel.” 

“Okay,” she said curiously. 

Someone cleared their throat above them, and they both jumped, looking up to see Jefferson standing on the demountable steps.

“You guys get much work done?” he asked, eyebrows raised, and they held up their books to show him.

“Great. You can go then.”

They scrambled to their feet and collected their belongings.

“I'll walk you home?” Killian offered.

She shrugged, realising she wouldn't mind the company, and set off down the road. Killian's phone trilled, and he checked it. He cursed suddenly, and Emma glanced at him. 

“Alright?”

He paused for a moment, reading off the screen, before shoving it back in his pocket. “I may or may not have just lost one of my jobs.”

“What?!”

“Yeah. I mean, I kinda suspected that it was coming since I missed a few shifts because of detentions. Still a bummer.” He turned to her with a grin, but his shoulders were hunched and he'd begun kicking a crushed can of coke along the road. 

Emma shifted, unsure what to do – he was obviously upset but hiding it, and she had enough experience with that to know that some people preferred not to talk about it. She certainly did, and Killian was probably the same, so she just reached out and squeezed his shoulder. He turned towards her and gave her a small smile. 

“It's fine,” he said. She was unsure if he was reassuring her, or himself. “I think there was a job offer at the convenience store, anyway, although only the bumshifts are left. Still. Sleep is for the weak!”

She frowned a bit as Archie's words came back to her. _Falling asleep in class_.

“You should be careful not to rack up any more detentions,” she informed him. When he turned to her with raised eyebrows, she added, “Dude, not being judgey, just pragmatic.” 

“I know,” he said, and sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. He opened his mouth as though to add something further, then seemed to change his mind, instead kicking the coke can off the footpath and into the gutter.

“Hey, Killian!” a voice called out suddenly, and Emma froze.

_No. It can't be_.

A cold shiver ran through her, like icy fingers running down her spine. For a moment she couldn't move, couldn't breathe. It was the voice she'd never wanted to hear again.

_Neal_.

Killian had stiffened beside her. Funnily, instead of turning in the direction of the voice, he turned to Emma instead, eyes wide with panic and concern, before he spun around.

“Neal,” he called. “Hey mate.”

Emma forced herself to turn and look. Neal was crossing the street towards them. He looked like he'd just come out of school as well, backpack hanging from one shoulder, dressed in the Storybrooke High uniform. He was grinning, but it dropped off his face when he noticed Emma.

For a moment he looked very sick. The colour drained from his face and he froze in the middle of the road. 

There was a moment of horribly tense silence as they stood staring at each other.

“There's a car coming!” Killian yelled suddenly, and Neal sprang into action. He leaped into the air, dithering momentarily as though considering whether to go over to them, or turn tail and run in the opposite direction. Finally he sprinted to their side of the road, just as the car zoomed past behind him.

“...hi,” he said, sounding rather strained.

Emma felt as though she was being torn in two. One part of her was panicking internally and she couldn't quite get it to shut up – _what is he doing here?! What will you say to him?! What does he think of you?!_

The other part was cold, and still, and apathetic.

Killian shifted by her side. His arm bumped against hers, and the warm contact snapped her out of her daze instantly. 

She decided that the only way to survive this with her sanity intact would be complete nonchalance, and fixed a careful expression of absolutely nothing on her face.

“Hi Killian,” Neal repeated. He glanced between them. “Uh, hi. Emma. I didn't realise it was you with him.”

“Neal,” she replied. Her voice shook a little, but she quickly ploughed on. “I heard you were back.”

“Yeah, I, uh, I came back a few weeks ago. I'm at Storybrooke High now.” He rubbed the back of his neck.

“Yes, the uniform kind of gives it away.”

More silence.

“I, uh, didn't realise you two were friends,” Neal said then.

“I could say the same thing,” Emma replied.

Killian stepped in then. “We have some mutual friends who go to Storybrooke,” he explained. “I only met Neal last week but we've hung out a few times.”

Neal nodded, and Emma suddenly wondered if he knew that Killian was good friends with Regina.

“I'll leave you guys to it,” she said, turning away. Killian took half a step forward as though to say something, but she was already walking off. Her hands were shaking and she quickly folded her arms. 

Seeing Neal had shaken her. His thoroughly awkward demeanour hadn't helped either; now she had no idea where she stood with him. She couldn't even bring herself to be angry right now – that would come later. For all her trying to avoid him, seeing him in the flesh less than a metre away from her had brought back the flood of feelings she'd been pushing down since he left. 

God.

 

* * *

 

Astrid was the only one home when she arrived, and instantly caught on that something was wrong. Emma still felt wary around her adoptive guardians; for all that they had proved themselves over the last five years, she still wasn't quite comfortable enough to talk openly about personal things with them. She knew they were disappointed, and hated herself for it – but still couldn't quite get over it.

At least she looked upset enough for Astrid to let the detention slide, especially when she explained what had happened, and Emma retreated to her room where she remained for the rest of the afternoon, pottering about unable to focus on anything in particular.

The email arrived at about six that evening. She was checking her school email, having sent an essay to her economics teacher for marking, when the message from Killian popped up. For a moment she just stared at it, quite confused – it had no subject – before she finally clicked on it, feeling oddly nervous for some reason.

_Hi Emma,_

_you left rather quickly! I don't know what happened with Neal (all I know is he's your ex from that english class that we won't speak about if you don't want to) but you seemed upset, with good reason I guess. He did come out of nowhere. And nearly ended up as roadkill. In fact if he'd gotten hit by that car that whole situation would probably have been less bloody awkward ayo_

_Like I said, we don't have to talk about it, just hope you got home safe and that you're feeling okay :)_

_~ Killian_

_ps here are some virtual flowers since those ones I gave you are probably dead by now_

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

 

Emma stared at her laptop screen.

He had checked up on her.

He had gone to the trouble of going onto the school email and checking up on her.

It was just so unexpectedly sweet. For the first time that afternoon the distress of Neal faded away, replaced by a warm, pleasant sensation in her stomach. 

She closed her laptop, and when she rose to cross the room and caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, she realised that she had unconsciously started smiling.

 


	7. Flat

 School was cancelled the next day. 

It seemed the hot weather the day before had been the precursor to a violent storm that swept through Storybrooke on Wednesday night, knocking down several trees and causing power outages in a few areas. The next day it managed to somehow be cold but humid, and rain was absolutely bucketing down, accompanied by flashes of lightning and an ominous white fog that made it hard to see to the end of the street.

“Are you staying home today?” Leroy asked Emma over breakfast.

She considered this. It would be nice to just rest at home, but at the same time she sort of wanted to get out of the house.

“Uh, not sure. I might text my friends and see if they want to meet up or something.”

“Alright. Let me know if you need me to drive you anywhere on my way to work.”

She nodded, and finishing breakfast quickly, went to message her group to see if they had plans. To her disappointment, Ruby was meeting up with the debating team to go over their argument for the next match, Mary Margaret had been roped into going somewhere with her mother, and David had work experience.

Now that she had asked people if they wanted to go out, she was unwilling to stay at home – and pondered for a few minutes if there was anyone else she might be interested in hanging out with.

Naturally, one person sprang to mind.

_Ugh_ , she thought, running a hand over her face. _I am in this way too deep. We're already ahead on the assessment, there's no real need to..._

Besides, he probably had to go to work. 

But what if he didn't?

Or he was probably already hanging out with Regina and co.

But what if he wasn't?

Making a snap decision, she opened her laptop and went to the school mail. She wasn't sure if he'd even check it in time to see her message, but supposed it was worth a try anyway.

She hadn't replied to the message he sent the night before, and did so now – just a quick _'Thanks :) Are you doing anything today or do you want to meet up at the library again?'_

It was only ten minutes before he replied, which she supposed wasn't unusual – people were probably checking their email to make sure school had indeed been confirmed as cancelled – and he agreed to meet her in the library at ten. 

Leroy drove her there. The rain still hadn't let up, beating hard against the car windows, the windscreen wipers doing double time to keep up. Even the short run from the car to the library doors had her soaked, and it was a relief to get inside where it was warm and dry.

She sat at the table they had used last time, and began to set out her things. When someone pulled out the chair next to her, she assumed it was Killian, and turned to greet him-

Only for the words to die on her lips. It wasn't Killian.

It was Neal. 

“Hi,” he said.

What was he doing? Why was he talking to her?

“Hi,” she replied stiffly. “Do you need something?” 

He shifted in his seat. “Bad weather out, isn't it?”

“No. We're not going to talk about the weather. What do you want?”

The alarm had faded since yesterday, replaced by anger. He had no right. No right to just stroll back into town and start chatting to her like nothing had even happened.

Neal had the good grace to look embarrassed. “I came to talk to you, Em. We should talk, you know.”

“About what? How you abandoned me?”

The words made him flinch, which she thought was rather fine! She opened her mouth to continue, when she saw Killian approaching across the library. When he noticed Neal, he looked very confused for a moment, and then very concerned.

“Sorry I'm late,” he said, sitting opposite Emma. “Neal, mate, what're you doing here?”

“I was in the library and saw Emma. Came to say hi.” He seemed irritated that Killian had interrupted their discussion, and given the way he made no move to continue it, she assumed that he wanted to speak to her privately.

Good. She was not going to leave this seat. Let him squirm.

“Uh.” Killian glanced between them, then shrugged and took his books out. “Are you here to study, Neal, or just dropping in for a book?”

“I did plan to do some work,” Neal replied tersely.

Killian glanced at Emma, and she realised he was waiting for her permission to ask Neal to sit with them. She shrugged and flapped a hand. Like hell she was going to let Neal see that his presence was bothering her mightily.

“Best thing about this rain is that it gives us an extra day to study for our maths test,” she said, and Killian snorted, nodding.

After ten minutes of Neal glancing at Emma, and her pointedly stabbing numbers into her calculator and not looking back at him, he seemed to finally catch on that she had no interest in talking to him. 

This made Killian the unfortunate mediary at the table. 

“The swimming carnival is next week,” Emma commented idly.

“Do you swim?” he replied.

She shrugged. “I can, but not seriously. I probably won't enter any of the long races. You must be bummed about your wrist, I remember you placed a few times last year.”

“Yeah,” he said. “But what can you do about it.”

Emma suddenly recalled the year 8 carnival, and how she and Neal had snuck off behind the stands and sat and played tetris on their phones while the school colour houses began the cheering contest, loud enough to make the stands vibrate. They had only just been beginning to discover their feelings for each other, and it had been exciting, that tension, the way they'd dart glances at each other and give little smiles.

Beside her, Neal let out a long exhale of breath, and she wondered if he was remembering the same thing.

“Tamara wants to hold another laser tag,” he said then, addressing Killian. “If you're free.”

“Tell me the details and I'll check. Last time was fun, though, Tink and I whooped you guys so hard.”

“You were running! You're not meant to run in there.”

“ _Everyone_ was running. Except you, hide-in-the-corner guy.”

“Hey, it was a workable strategy.”

And that was how the conversation continued, rather stiltedly, Killian speaking to Emma and Neal in turns while the other two just ignored each other.

“David and I are the only ones of our group in Blue, and we hate cheering, it's so awkward. So we just lipsync.”

“Next time we should play Storybrooke vs Queenhart.”

“Did you go to the last athletics carnival? The teacher's race was hysterical. Mr Jefferson fell over.”

“Our school open day is next Thursday so we get the next day off.” 

The strange exchange only ended when Emma and Killian finished their maths work and got out their Hamlet books. Neal had fallen silent, focusing on his own study.

“We should start putting together the collage soon,” Emma said. She pushed her laptop across the table towards him. “Have a read of that. I finished the Ophelia character study last night.”

Killian nodded thoughtfully as he read. “Yeah... sounds good. We should definitely have the ' _get thee to a nunnery'_ scene as a prominent part of the maze. Talk about his choice to push Ophelia away and all that.”

“What are we arguing?” she asked. “I've written there that we could tie it into our idea that all of Hamlet's dithering about and pushing people away just escalated things and made it far more confusing and convoluted than it could have been if he'd just charged in and killed Claudius right away.”

“Ophelia is the only innocent character in the play,” Killian agreed. “Polonius dragged her into things, but Hamlet was the one who broke her heart.”

“Couldn't you argue that he was protecting her?” Neal spoke up suddenly.

Emma went very still.

“What do you mean?” Killian asked.

“He pushed her away to keep her safe. To keep her away from all the corruption and deception in Denmark. _Get thee to a nunnery_ was his way of warning her off – telling her that it wasn't safe there. That he couldn't protect her from what was going on,” Neal said. “If you think about it, it was a very selfless thing for Hamlet to do.”

Emma did not like the way Neal was watching her carefully, as though gauging her reaction.

“No,” she said. “No, it wasn't. He hurther.”

“He _protected_ her! He couldn't be what she wanted, and staying with her would have risked her happiness, even her safety!” Neal's eyes were burning, a mixture of pleading and anger. 

Emma knew what he was saying. She could barely speak, she was so angry.

“No,” she said again. “Protecting her would have been sitting her down, talking to her, explaining to her! If he really loved her, he would have trusted her – he would have let _her_ choose whether to be with him or not! But no, he just turned mad out of the blue and started bullying her, abusing her, pushing her away – that's not _selfless_ , that's sel _fish_! That's him thinking he knows what's best for her and going ahead and doing it without even asking! That _hurts_ , Neal!” she cried, and stood up from the table.

She couldn't do this anymore – she couldn't sit here and let him talk at her and act as though _he_ was in the right, as if he expected her to understand that he'd done it for her _benefit_.

Snatching up her books and shoving them in her bag, she strode out of the library. She heard someone call her name behind her, but couldn't tell if it was Neal or Killian.

She had forgotten it was raining outside.

Within moments of exiting, she was soaked, clutching her bag to her chest to prevent her books getting wet. Water dripped down her face, and the combination of heavy rain and fog made it hard for her to see where she was going as she started down the street.

“Emma! Wait up!”

She heard splashing footsteps approaching, and suddenly Killian was by her side, holding an umbrella over her.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

Emma pressed her lips together. Concern was written all over his face.

“I'm fine,” she said finally, stiffly.

He grimaced, obviously deathly curious as to what exactly had happened between she and Neal, but he didn't press for details, which she was grateful for.

“I know he's your friend,” she said finally, “but I can't sit there with him. Not right now.” She'd do or say something she'd regret.

Killian had an odd look on his face, like he wanted to say something but couldn't. Finally he nodded.

“Are you going home?”

“Well, I can hardly walk back in there now,” she muttered. “So yeah. You don't have to walk me back.”

“No, I will. You'll be drenched otherwise. I'd give you the umbrella but I'm not meant to get my cast wet.”

She nodded, and they set off. The umbrella was small enough that to stay beneath it she had to sort of huddle by his side. They didn't speak as they walked, but Emma felt herself slowly growing calm again. The beat of rain on the fabric above them was almost soothing, and focusing on how cold and damp she felt took her mind off how enraged she'd been at Neal's words.

When they reached her street, Killian finally spoke, if only to comment that “this fog is like something from a bloody horror movie. I keep expecting Slenderman to appear at the end of the street.”

“If he does, you distract him and I'll run,” she replied. He scoffed, and she added, “Nah, jokes, I'll just chuck the maths textbook at it. That thing is ridiculously heavy.”

“We're more likely to be attacked by a car. I can't even see halfway down the road. Is this your house?” he asked, squinting through the rain.

Emma nodded, recognising the gate. “Yeah, it is.” She paused. “We didn't get much work done at the library. Did you want to come in, maybe, and we can start on the collage?”

“Sure. Are your parents home?”

“The car's not here, so I guess Astrid went out marketing. She'll probably be back soon.”

As she walked to the door and fumbled for her key, she wondered exactly what she was doing. Normally she would never have dreamed of inviting anyone from Regina's group into her home. 

The house was dark and quiet inside, the thunder clouds blocking out any semblance of the sun, but Astrid had left the heater on so it was at least warm. Emma wandered through, turning on lights. They had done their spring cleaning lately, so things were much tidier than they usually were.

Killian was lingering by the door. He had hung up his umbrella and was struggling to take off his coat with the cast. 

“Need a hand?” Emma asked, glancing at him.

“That would be great, love.”

She stepped closer to him and helped him pull it over his shoulders. The movement brought them quite close together, and Emma felt a bit embarrassed suddenly. As soon as the coat was off, she quickly stepped back.

“How's that healing?” she asked, with a nod at his wrist.

“Quite well, I think. I bet the cast will come off just as soon as I get used to tying my tie and shoelaces with one hand.”

She snorted.

“So when will I find out how you really broke it?” she asked, turning back into the living room. She remembered what he'd said to Regina – _last time we went 'drastic_ '. She had no idea what that meant. 

Killian grinned as he followed her. “I've got to keep some sense of mystery about me. The accent doesn't carry everything, you know.”

She laughed.

The kitchen table had stuff on it, and the light in the dining room wasn't great. Which really only left her bedroom. For a moment she hesitated, because inviting the year 10 king of innuendo into her room could be taken drastically the wrong way, but at the same time it was the only other room with a desk.

Rather than say anything, she just walked to her room, Killian trailing along behind her.

“Will your parents be okay with this?” he asked, when he realised where they were going.

“Yeah, David comes over all the time,” she said. “Besides, they trust me.” 

And then she was hit with a wave of guilt x 1000, because Astrid and Leroy still didn't know about the year-9-incident-that-would-hopefully-never-be-spoken-of-again. The incident of which she tried very hard not to think, and had been succeeding in not thinking about until bloody Neal had to come waltzing back into her life.

Killian looked around her room with unabashed curiosity, and Emma really hoped she hadn't left underwear or anything lying around. A quick scan revealed that the floor was neat at least, though she hadn't made her bed and there was a mountain of crap piling up on her desk. 

“You kept them,” Killian said suddenly.

“What?” She turned to look at him and found him standing by her bookshelf, where the jasmine flowers were sitting in their little tub. They were quite sad and wilted by now.

“Uh,” she said. “I didn't get around to chucking them out.”

“I see,” he said, and smiled a very wide smile.

Emma suddenly realised that they were both wringing wet, Killian's hair plastered to his forehead and sending droplets to the floor.

“I'm gonna go get changed,” she said. “I'll bring you back a towel.”

“Okay, thanks.”

She grabbed some clothes and went quickly to the bathroom. When she returned, Killian was still standing before her bookshelf, looking at some of the framed pictures there.

“You're on a boat!” he declared, turning to look at her. She tossed him the towel and he caught it, vigorously drying his hair before pointing at one of the photos. 

“What? Oh, right!” She grinned. “That's Leroy's boat. He's mad about it.”

“My dad used to be into sailing, back when we lived in England,” Killian commented. 

“Really?”

“Yeah. I used to think I really wanted to join the navy. Changed my mind, though, I don't think I could handle following orders all day.” He gave a crooked grin. 

Emma reached out and touched the photo. “Leroy loves boating. He used to want to do it full time, but now he just works as a janitor in the hospital. Sometimes I think if it wasn't for Astrid he'd be terribly unhappy.” 

Killian looked at her with an odd intensity, before his gaze flickered away towards the window, spotted and fogged over with rain.

“It's funny,” he said quietly, “How one person can just change the way you feel about life like that.”

She nodded. “Astrid and Leroy... I don't know, they've become like the pinnacle of an ideal relationship for me.”

“How so?” 

“They just make each other so happy. And it seems like they make each other want to be a better person, but not in a pressuring way.” She scoffed out a laugh. “I used to be terrified of Leroy when I first came here.”

“Why?”

“I thought he didn't want kids and Astrid had just pushed him into it. I thought they would send me away.”

He looked puzzled. “Can they do that? Send someone away after already having adopted them?”

Emma paused, hesitant. She took a few steps back and sat down on the edge of her bed. 

She didn't know why she was even _considering_ talking about this. Normally she would have changed the subject long before it could get to this point. But somehow – somehow she wanted it to come out. Maybe it was the stress of Neal, maybe she was just tired of _hiding_ things.

Maybe, maybe she wanted to see what he would do, if she revealed to him just how broken she was.

Killian, having noted her long silence, opened his mouth, presumably to change the subject. She jumped in first. 

“I... it happened before. Lots of times before.” 

His gaze softened. He pulled out her desk chair and sat opposite her. 

“The number of foster families I went through... until Astrid and Leroy, no one wanted to keep me.” Her lips stretched into a humourless smile. “One family discovered they were having their own baby. They couldn't afford to keep us both. Another only wanted the benefits. Another divorced and neither of them wanted me. And so on, and so on.”

He continued to watch her. His eyes were wide and full of pain. Pain for _her_ , she realised.

“I couldn't trust people. Feeling like no one wanted me – like I was just a burden on society – every time I was put in a new home I was paranoid that they would get rid of me. And sure enough they did. Nothing was ever _permanent_.” She let out a huff of breath. “Until Astrid and Leroy. The whole first year I was so _scared._ Trying so hard not to get attached, even to people at school, because I thought I'd be leaving again. And then another year passed, and another, and it was only in what, year 9 or 10? That I finally realised I was here to stay.”

She ran her hands over her face.

“They've been so good to me. But I still can't open up to them. To _anyone_ , really.”

In the moment of silence that followed, she realised the weight of her last statement, because what, exactly, was she doing right now?

“Emma,” Killian said softly. He came, and sat upon the bed beside her, and after a brief hesitation, put his arm around her. Emma sat still and stiff for a few seconds, before giving into the urge to lean in against his shoulder. 

They sat for a little while, and did not speak.

Finally Emma stirred, and Killian pulled away immediately. 

“Well that got real deep real fast,” she said, deflecting, and he smiled a bit.

“That sucks,” he said simply, and didn't add anything else. Emma appreciated that; what had happened had happened, and worthless platitudes were never helpful.

“We should probably start work now,” she said, and he nodded. 

“Yeah.” 

The process of planning the collage was much more fun than writing and analysing. Deciding where to put things, the layout and pictures to be used, was enjoyable work.

“Are you doing anything tomorrow night?” Killian asked after a bit. 

“Not that I know of?”

“Did you want to go to a party with me?” he asked.

Emma paused, and slowly lowered the marker she was holding. “A party?” 

“Yeah.” He grinned. “It's Regina's birthday. She's throwing a massive bash, as you undoubtedly know. Same as every year.”

“You mean the big, extravagant party that she always pointedly invites everyone in the year except my group to?”

“That's the one.” His grin widened. “So you'll come?”

She shrugged, tossing the marker back into her pencil case. “I dunno. Won't she be mad if I turn up uninvited?”

“She generally lets us bring a few extras,” he said. “Besides, there'll be so many people there. She probably won't even notice! Come on, you can't tell me you've never been curious what her house looks like before?”

Emma thought about it. She hadn't been to a party in ages. And crashing Regina's would certainly be fun after the myriad of unpleasant things the other girl had been doing to her all year. She smiled. 

“Sure, why not.”  


	8. Flesh

 “I still don't think this is a good idea.”

Emma glanced at Mary Margaret in the mirror, careful not to move her head as she finished applying a thin streak of eyeliner.

“It's nothing,” she assured her, “Just some fun. Ruby's going too, Victor asked her. It'll be fine.”

“I don't like it.” Mary Margaret sat down on the edge of Emma's bed. “Why would he just ask you like that? It could be a trap.”

“Hey. We're not blowing up the Death Star. It's just a party.” Emma came and sat next to her, fixing her with her most reassuring smile. “If you're so worried, why don't you come along too?”

Mary Margaret snorted. “Ha! I think not. Regina _might_ tolerate you and Ruby if she finds out, but me? Invading her house and home? Don't forget that Principal Mills lives there too.”

Emma pressed her lips together. “Yeah, I know, but I've been assured that Ms Mills is out of the house tonight. Look, I'll text you the whole time, keep you updated.”

“Yes,” Mary Margaret said, seeming pleased with this plan. “You do that.”

Emma rolled her eyes. Sometimes Mary Margaret acted more like her mum than Astrid did.

“What else? Shall I be home by midnight?” she teased, and Mary Margaret mock-scowled and swatted at her.

“Seriously though,” she said, fixing Emma with a rather more sombre look. “If anything happens – if Regina or Killian or any of them does something – just call and David and I will come get you out of there, okay?” 

“Okay. Thanks.” And great, now Mary Margaret was making _her_ paranoid, as though she were about to walk into a den of lions rather than crash a birthday party.

 

* * *

 

The Mills' house took up probably a third, if not half, of the entire street block. Emma had driven past it many times, but never gotten a close up look. It was certainly an impressive building, a three-storey redbrick manor with expansive front gardens and neatly trimmed topiary lining the entrance path.

There were quite a few people milling in the garden already, which had been strung up with fairy lights and colourful paper lanterns. Most of them were people Emma recognised from school, and when she walked through the gates a few looked at her in surprise, probably wondering what she was doing there. Their groups' feud was no secret.

“Emma!” a voice called out, and Ruby bounded up by her side, looking stunning as usual in a strapless crimson dress and matching lipstick.

“Hey!” Emma said, glad to see her friend. She grinned. “You had a look around yet?”

“Yep,” Ruby replied, popping the 'p'. “Fanciest house I've ever seen! And it's not really a house party, it's sort of a classier thing, so... I'm glad we dressed for the occasion.”

“Speaking of dressed for the occasion,” a voice drawled behind Emma, and she turned to see Killian.

“You look absolutely delightful,” he informed Ruby, with accompanying wink, and then turned to Emma.

“And you look... beautiful,” he continued, in a slightly odd voice, like he had been aiming for flirty but ended up sounding a bit too sincere, and Emma bit her lip, unsure why she suddenly felt a warm flush of delight at his words – he'd probably said the same thing to a hundred other girls before. Not to mention she wasn't even all that done up, she'd put on a simple blue tunic dress, with a white paisley print along the hem and a beaded neckline. Nothing too fancy, but then again, she supposed Killian spent the vast majority of his time seeing her in the school uniform.

“Thanks,” she replied. Before she could reply, Victor swooped in beside Killian, nearly knocking the other boy over. He was wearing a pair of bright green shutter shades, and as they stared at him in confusion, he reached forward and jammed a pair of hot pink ones onto Killian's face.

“...thank you?” Killian said sarcastically. “You look like a total douche, by the way.”

“And now you do too!” Victor sneered. He turned to Emma and grinned. “Emma Swan. I didn't realise you were invited.” 

“That's because I wasn't,” she replied, and his grin widened.

“Great. Now I won't be the only one Regina gets mad at for bringing one of her mortal enemies.” His gaze flicked over Ruby appreciatively. “You look hot, by the way.”

Ruby rolled her eyes, but smiled. As Victor took her arm and led her off, Emma wondered just when the two of them had become so close. Then again, Emma-of-two-weeks-ago would have been asking herself the same thing about she and Killian.

“Shall we go inside?” Killian asked, and she nodded. He made to take the shades off but she grabbed his wrist.

“Wait! I want to take a photo of that.”

“You're not gonna post it on Facebook, are you?”

“...no,” she said unconvincingly, and stuck her tongue out. He shot her a mock-glare, but obligingly pulled a face while she snapped a picture of it. And promptly texted it to Mary Margaret with the caption ' _save me he is oh so dangerous_ ' before putting her phone away and smiling.

“Inside, then?”

He nodded, shoved the glasses in his pocket, and offered her his hand the same way Victor had. Emma hesitated for a second, then shrugged and took hold of it. His grip was warm and firm and oddly comfortable.

“Someone will undoubtedly have snuck booze in,” Killian said, as they approached the marble steps leading up to the front door. “But as a general rule Regina hates people getting drunk at her house.”

“Well, I wasn't planning on it,” she replied. “Do you hang out here much?”

“Not really. Sidney does. The rest of us tend to meet up in town or at Victor's place.”

Inside, the party was already quite lively. The interior of the house was massive, all sloping ceilings and tiled floors and fancy wide staircase, but most people were lingering in the entrance hall where a buffet table was set up, so it was quite crowded. Pretty much their entire year group was there, and quite a few others from different schools, talking, drinking punch and dancing to some random pop song playing over the stereo system. It was surprisingly civilised for a teenaged party, which Emma supposed was in line with Regina's style.

“Impressed?” Killian asked, and Emma turned to him.

“Mostly curious! It's weird to think of Regina living here every day.”

“Rest assured, she's just as human as the rest of us.”

“I know. It's just very extravagant. I guess that's what being totally rich is like.”

Astrid and Leroy were quite well off – Astrid had had a job in the profitable mining industry before switching to part-time work after adopting Emma. Most of the saved up money had gone towards the adoption and sending Emma to Queenhart. They were by no means poor, but certainly a far cry from this sort of lifestyle.

“Yeah, but you know what they say. Money can't buy everything,” Killian said.

Emma glanced at him. “Regina seems happy enough,” she began to say, before pausing as she realised that she really didn't know that. Her only close contact with Regina was in the form of, well, fights. She always seemed content enough – but if Emma's interactions with Killian were anything to go by, it seemed you couldn't just judge a person by how they acted at school.

“Has Regina ever dated someone?” she asked curiously. She'd never seen the other girl in a relationship at school, but not every boy in Storybrooke went to Queenhart.

Killian ran a hand through his hair. “Once,” he said, after a moment's hesitation. “Not since she started high school.”

“What? So when she was a kid? Those don't count. 

“It was... different.” He shook his head, and Emma realised that while _she_ might be Regina's enemy, Killian was still her friend, and obviously didn't want to reveal whatever it was that Regina probably didn't want spreading around.

“Apparently Sidney used to have the biggest crush on her,” he informed her instead, and Emma smiled.

“Actually, I remember that. Year 8, I think. Everyone was talking about some drama in her group.”

“Yeah. They managed to work it out and stay friends, though. Anyway. Want to see the rest of the house?” 

The upper levels were off limits, and Emma was surprised to see that there were actually security cameras installed above the staircase and two guards standing at the banister, watching the goings on. She supposed the school principal would probably not be particularly happy about having a hundred students wandering around her home. 

As it was, they explore the drawing room – and really, who even _had_ a drawing room nowadays – as well as a sitting room with a television screen so large it took up almost an entire wall, and finally the backyard.

More topiary surrounded the neatly trimmed lawn, most of it, oddly, cut into the shape of a series of hearts of varying sizes. 

“Rumour has it,” Killian whispered in Emma's ear, close enough that she felt his breath against her skin, “That Principal Mills steals the souls of anyone who defies her and channels their life force into her shrubbery.”

“You are ridiculous,” she huffed, and couldn't help the shiver that tingled down her spine when he laughed against the side of her face.

“What's that tree there?” she asked, pointing to the impressive fruit tree that was in the centre of the lawn, the most prominent feature of the garden.

“Ah. That would be Regina's apple tree. Her pride and joy. It was planted on the day of her birth, and she's been its sole carer since she was old enough to hold a watering can. She loves that thing like it's her own flesh and blood.” He raised and lowered one shoulder. “I've personally never seen the appeal of plants. Had a cactus once when I was 9. It died.”

“You managed to kill a _cactus_?”

“Apparently.”

She eyed the tree. For a moment she was seized with a flash of vindictiveness. 

“What are you thinking, Swan?” Killian asked suspiciously, and she shrugged.

“Just how easy it would be to take a bite out of every single apple on that tree. Or draw on them in permanent marker.”

“You want to _troll_ Regina?” He was grimacing, but there was a spark of amusement and almost fondness in his eyes.

“Maybe.” She smiled mischievously. “Come on! That's hardly anything compared to the stuff she's done to me. We never get a chance to hit back. Moral high ground and all that."

Killian shrugged. “Well, I'm hardly one to try and stop you. If you recall, I'm quite the believer in revenge.”

“I remember,” she said.

“But in the interests of not becoming a not-so-innocent bystander, I'll step out while you do... whatever it is you're going to do. I'll meet you back inside.” He tipped an invisible cap to her before vanishing back into the house.

Emma walked up to the tree, had a few second thoughts, and then finally decided that what the hell, Regina deserved it. Besides, it wasn't like she was going to go and pee all over the house or anything. This was almost more of a prank than some sort of terrible revenge. 

In the end she decided not to be _too_ mean, and settled for just taking some bites out of the apples on the lower hanging branches. To Regina's credit, they tasted pretty good.

Having messaged a picture of the results of her nefarious scheme to Mary Margaret and receiving an amused reply, she returned to the party. She didn't realise how cool and silent the garden was until she re-entered the house, which seemed to have become even more crowded and noisy since she left. There was no sign of Killian around, but she caught a glimpse of Regina suddenly, gliding across the floor of the hall, and quickly ducked back behind a marble column, hoping to stay out of sight.

A bunch of girls were standing near her, and she moved to mingle at the fringes of their group. Extensive watching of David playing Assassin's Creed had assured her that this would pretty much render her invisible.

One of their phones trilled, and the girl checked it, her eyes widening. “Oh my God, Mr Gold is here.”

“What?” another exclaimed. Emma frowned. 

“Yeah, it's going around! Someone saw him walking through the drawing room!”

“What the hell is he doing _here_?”

_Well that's weird_ , Emma thought. And then was hit by a flash of concern for Killian – naturally the first person who sprang to mind at the mention of Mr Gold.

She stepped away from the group and set out in search of him. Ruby and Victor were dancing a little way nearby – well, doing more laughing and stumbling about than dancing, as it seemed Victor was not very good – and she marched over to them.

“You seen Killian?” she asked, and Victor pointed at the entranceway into a coatroom that joined the main hall to a secondary sitting room (really. For God's sake. Who needed _two_ sitting rooms?).

She gently pushed her way through a crowd of people attempting to perform Gangnam Style, entering the coat room where it was quiet and empty. She took a moment to give her eardrums a break, when suddenly she felt a hand on her elbow.

“Em,” Neal said.

She spun around so hard that her own hair nearly gave her whiplash.

“What – what the _hell_ are you doing here?!” she demanded.

The shock of seeing him already had her heart slamming against her ribcage. Neal looked slightly pained. He didn't let go of her arm.

“We need to talk!”

“Did you _follow_ me here?” 

“No.” He was lying. “We need to _talk_.”

“About what?”

“I want you to understand why I did it,” he said, pleadingly. “We should – I _like_ you, Emma, I want to stay friends. I don't want to stay in this, this tense angry thing we've got going on!”

“ _Tense angry thing_?” She shook his grip off roughly, folding her arms across her chest like they could somehow defend her. “I have every right to stay in this _tense angry thing_! And what the hell was that back at the library? Telling me you dumped me for my own _benefit_?!” 

“Because I did!” he sounded frustrated. Like she was the one who just couldn't get it, and that was it. Emma had just _had it_. Here and now, they were hashing this out.

“I thought I was _pregnant_ , Neal!” Her voice cracked slightly, but she barrelled on. “I thought I was _pregnant_. With _your_ child! And you just _left_! You just dumped me and left! How, in any way, shape or form, was that for my own good-”

“ _Because I wanted to keep it_!” 

She was struck silent, mouth half-open. Neal was glaring now, his eyes burning fiercely.

“I thought you were pregnant, and I knew that I wanted to keep it, and I knew that that was _exactly_ the wrong thing for you! I knew that if you kept it... it would ruin you.”

“ _Ruin me?!_ ” she cried, aghast, and he cut back in.

“Yes, Emma! It would have ruined you. It would ruin what you were building with Astrid and Leroy. I could see you weren't close to them yet – not as close as you would have to be to raise a child under their roof! I knew you would be terrified of having to tell them, you would worry they were gonna send you away – I couldn't put you through that! I knew that people at school would talk, that Regina would have a field day with it! So that's why I left, okay?! That's why I left! I left so that you could be _safe_ , so that you could be _happy_! And it _killed me_ to do it! It killed me!” 

She stared at him, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. Neal's own eyes looked suspiciously damp, wide and open and honest- 

No. Not honest.

_Not honest_ , her lie detector blared. _Not honest. There's something more._

“That's not.... that's not why you left,” she choked out. “That's not. There had to have been more. And you stayed away for _two years_. As soon as I found out it was just a scare – Ruby called you. She let you know. And you didn't come back.” 

Neal's gaze dropped to the floor, shoulders slumping. There was a terrible moment of silence. Outside, the music and chatter stopped momentarily, before a rousing chorus of _Happy Birthday_ started up.

Emma felt sick. 

Neal swallowed hard. “I... my parents,” he said, flatly. “They just _fought_ , all the time. I knew they were breaking up. They were pulling apart and accusing each other of cheating and I was stuck in the middle and I needed to _get away_. And then I got the offer for the exchange program, and then you said you were pregnant and I knew. I knew I had to leave. It was like – it was like _fate_ , the offer came along and it was what I had to do. For both of us. For _you_.”

Emma stared at him.

“Fate,” she said dully. “It was like _fate_.”

“Yes!” And his gaze snapped back up to her, eyes burning. “So do you _get it_? I wasn't trying to hurt you, I was trying to _help_ -” 

And there he broke off, because Killian had come out of nowhere and punched him in the face.

Emma stumbled back, hand flying to her mouth in shock, because _where did he come from, what's going on-_

_he heard._

“You absolute-” Killian had grabbed Neal by the shirt and shoved him back against the wall. “-minging-” a punch to the stomach - “-asshole!”

“Get off me!” Neal shoved Killian back, spluttering. Blood was dripping from a cut on his lip. “What the hell, Killian?!”

“You are a _snivelling coward_ ,” Killian roared. Neal took a step forward, and Killian moved swiftly between him and Emma. “Stay away from her!”

“This has _nothing to do with you!_ ”

Emma had never seen either of the boys this angry, so tense they were trembling, fists clenched.

Neal tried to step forward again, and Killian charged him. He knocked him back against the wall, but with one hand out of action, Neal had an advantage, and he landed a punch on Killian's jaw before the other boy ducked low and tackled him about the waist, sending them both to the floor.

By now people had heard the commotion and were spilling into the coatroom, most shouting, some cheering and jeering, and Emma stepped forward to intervene, when-

“Get off my son!”

Mr Gold was suddenly there. He grabbed Killian by the back of the shirt, but when pulling failed, he hooked an arm around the boy's waist and yanked him back. They both fell to the ground and Gold got to his feet and pointed his cane at Killian, still on the floor.

“Don't touch him again!” he snarled.

Killian glared up at him. “You stay out of this, old man!” he yelled.

“ _What's going on here_?!” Regina had shoved her way through the crowd. If the situation had been different, Emma might have found the look on her face amusing, as she took in Neal wiping his bloodied lip, Mr Gold threatening Killian on the floor, and Emma standing there watching like a stunned mullet.

Regina planted her hands on her hips. She did not seem at all cowed by the fact that her year coordinator was standing in front of her. She just looked very, very unimpressed.

“I repeat,” she snapped, “What is going on here?”

“That is exactly what I want to know,” a voice rose above the murmurs of the spectators.

The crowd parted like the Red Sea, and Emma's blood ran cold. 

Striding through the ocean of teenagers was Principal Cora Mills. She rarely ventured from her office, and the only time students usually saw her was once a week at assembly – unless they had committed a transgression serious enough to be sent into her Lair of Doom.

Up close, she was even more intimidating. Lips bright red, hair piled atop her head in an impressive bun, heels giving her a few inches of extra height and a cold, steely look in her eyes.

Mr Gold slowly lowered his cane.

“Cora,” he said flatly.

“Rumpel,” she replied, looking most unamused. “What the hell are you doing in my house?”

 

* * *

 

Emma wondered if she was dreaming.

It certainly felt very surreal, sitting on an uncomfortable fancy chair in Regina's house, feeling as though she was waiting outside the principal's office to be called in and face the music.

In a way, she supposed she was.

Her phone was buzzing continually with text messages from a frantic Ruby, who had been dragged out of the party by Victor before they could get in trouble as well. She had now alerted Mary Margaret, who was also spamming Emma's inbox with a shower of concern and fretting.

Emma switched her phone to silent.

Neal was sitting opposite her, hands braced on his knees, head hanging down. He had only spoken once since the fight, and this to tell Mr Gold that “You shouldn't have come.”

The house was now still and empty, the guests all gone. Emma had been forced to stay behind, under the orders of Cora, who wanted to “sort this out without getting the police involved and without having to deal with drama at school on Monday.”

So here she was. Stuck waiting.

She could only really think about two things.

Mr Gold's first name was Rumpel, which really, _what_.

And Neal hadn't apologised.

He had thrown a lot of ' _becauses'_ at her, but he hadn't apologised.

He wasn't _sorry_.

“-can't do things like this!” Cora's voice drifted suddenly from behind the door of her nearby study. “I am _this close_ to expelling you, Jones. I could not care less about this thing you have going with Gold, but you bring it here? Into my house and home?”

She heard Killian reply, too quietly for her to make out the words. 

“You are walking a very, very thin line. I've done everything I can to help you. But if you get into trouble like this.... I should have called the police tonight. And if I had, you would have been out of this school faster than you could blink. You have no breathing room to take risks like that.” 

A pause. 

“There are a hundred other students out there waiting to take your place at Queenhart if you mess this up again. Dr Hopper tells me you've been missing his sessions. That won't do. He's been trying to call your house but no one answers. I sent a letter home asking your father to come in two weeks ago and got no reply.” 

This time, Emma heard Killian's reply. “He's out of town.”

“He's been out of town for the entire _month_.”

“He'll be back. Next month when you ring – someone will answer.”

Another pause.

“So what am I meant to do? Just send you home? I can't contact your parents.” A heavy sigh. Some talking in softer tones. And then Cora's voice again, close to the door, “You're lucky Regina likes you.” 

The door opened and Killian emerged, Cora close behind him. He looked pale, tired, still a bit irritated. There was a dark bruise blooming on his jaw where Neal had hit him.

“Neal,” Cora said, inclining her head towards the study. “In here, now.”

He trudged in, slowly, leaving Emma and Killian standing alone in the hallway.

A tense silence settled over them. The lights in the corridor seemed too bright and too harsh, and Emma still felt sick.

She spoke first.

“You shouldn't have done that.”

He turned to look at her, eyes very tired.

“Sorry?” 

“You shouldn't have done that. Attacked Neal. It wasn't anything to do with you. I could have handled it myself.” The words came out very flat.

He looked stricken. “I wasn't-”

“I'm not angry,” she continued. She couldn't quite get her voice to sound anything other than flat. “You just... shouldn't have done that. He was mine to deal with.” 

Killian didn't seem to quite know what to say.

As it turned out, he didn't have to say anything, because Regina came storming down the hall. She looked absolutely livid.

“Regina,” Killian began, turning to her, and she pulled to a halt right in front of him.

“You,” she snapped, and stabbed a finger at his chest. “What the hell was that out there? You just _ruined everything_!” 

“Not here!” he hissed, with a glance at Emma, but she cut in.

“ _Yes_ here! This is _my_ house, Killian! What were you thinking?! Neal was our best bet!”

Emma froze. An odd sensation overcame her, almost like a premonition. Whatever she was about to hear, she knew that she wouldn't like it. Yet she couldn't bring herself to leave. Killian's face was drawn rigid and angry, his eyes very bright, and Regina's lips had curled into a snarl.

“It was going so well,” Regina said, deliberately loud enough for Emma to hear. “And you just screwed it over completely. He hates you now, he'll never tell you anything.”

“He wasn't telling me anything anyway,” Killian replied, his voice very tight. 

“He didn't _trust_ you enough yet. He's never going to trust you now.” She threw her hands up. “So there goes that plan! Back to square one, just because you let your _stupid crush_ get in the way of things! Do you even want this?! Are you even _trying_ here, because it sure doesn't seem like it!” 

“Regina...” he broke off, turned to Emma, but she took a step back away from him.

“You weren't really friends with Neal,” she said. The look on his face said it all. “You were just using him... to get information?”

“Emma-” 

“Information about what?” _Me,_ was her first horrified thought, but she quickly discarded it. They wouldn't have gone through Neal. And then it came to her, the way they had been outside of Mr Gold's office. _Drastic measures_. “Mr Gold. You were just pretending to be his friend because you want to get something on Gold.”

Killian just stood and looked at her, arm hanging limply by his side. He had nothing to say.

Emma swallowed a few times. The nausea was creeping up her stomach and through her chest, sick disappointment overwhelming her.

She had thought Killian was better than that.

She had thought she'd initially misjudged him.

And don't get her wrong – it wasn't that she felt at all protective towards Neal, quite the opposite, actually. But the fact remained.

He'd done it again.

The exact same thing he'd done to Aurora, he'd done again with Neal. Conspiring with Regina to trick and betray and _use_ someone before throwing them away-

And God. _God_. What if the same thing was being done to her right now? 

_Was she about to be thrown away too_?

Panic rose up. She quashed it down, and made herself go very cold and very still, and said, “What about me?”

“What?” Killian asked, softly.

“How do I fit into all this? Is that why you were being so friendly to me as well?” Oh God. Oh God, no. The things she had _told_ him.

“What?” Killian repeated. His eyes widened, “Emma, that's not-”

“Don't lie to Miss Swan,” Regina cut in. Her eyes glittered darkly, and she strode up next to Killian, placing a hand delicately on his shoulder. “You were close to Neal. You were the closest person to him for over a year. You knew things. Things that could have helped us.”

“No. Regina-” Killian hissed, turning to face her, but she dug her nails into him and continued.

“Surely you didn't think he _liked_ you, Emma. You? Really?” She laughed, harsh and bitter. “He could have any girl he wants. And you're _not what he wants_.”

Something in Emma snapped. 

Something that was wound very high and tight. Something that had broken the first time she was sent away from a foster home, and again when Neal left, and she that had rebuilt precariously and lined with high walls that had now, somehow, been infiltrated, leaving her open to bombardment.

She turned and strode towards the door, uncaring of what Cora would say. Behind her she heard Killian shouting, angrily, but couldn't make out his words. All she heard was Regina's voice, snapping at him: “Do you want this?! _Do you want this?!_ ”

She walked out the door, and out the gate, and down the road, and took out her phone. She saw herself in the dark reflection of the screen, and her face looked very blank.

And she sat down on the curb, and called Mary Margaret.


	9. Weary

 Emma did not want to go to school on Monday.

She hadn't had such a terrible weekend since year 9, sneaking out to buy pregnancy tests and discretely visiting a doctor, sick with nerves the entire time. It was like Neal all over again, except this time she hadn't just been abandoned, she had been betrayed.

She didn't wallow.

She channelled everything into netball, and played one of the best games of her life, and on Monday she walked into school with her head held high and determined to ignore everybody except her friends.

She was very glad that today was the day that she had no classes with Killian. She wasn't sure she could look at him – but then realised that to hell with it, she wasn't at fault here, he was the one who ought to be embarrassed.

“You okay?” Mary Margaret asked at lunch, for about the tenth time that day. Normally Emma would have been annoyed, but Mary Margaret was not unobservant to her wishes, and had been giving her space, just checking in now and then to make sure everything was fine.

Emma nodded, and took a huge bite out of her ham and cheese sandwich.

“Totally fine,” she informed them. “Mostly just kicking myself for.....” _Trusting him_ , she thought, but didn't want to say it out loud. Because she had. She had trusted him, after practically a lifetime of not trusting _anyone_. And look where it had gotten her. 

“I have half a mind to go over there and punch his face in,” David informed her, and Emma shook her head. 

“He's not worth you getting in trouble. Just leave it.” 

“How are you going to continue doing the English?” Mary Margaret asked worriedly. 

“By email,” Emma replied grimly. “We've done enough planning by now that we can each do our own half.” 

The other two nodded, but Ruby, picking at a bread roll on the other end of the table, had a different look on her face. Sort of sad and confused, and a little bit like a kicked puppy. She was staring in the direction of Regina's table, and Emma followed her gaze. 

Most of the group, including Regina, were seated at one end of the picnic table. Killian, however, was sitting at the other end, separate from the rest of them. He was slumped over, his head resting on his arms. Smee was the only one next to him, and as Emma watched, he nudged Killian and said something. Killian swatted him away without even looking up.

Emma frowned. Since Friday night she had pushed down everything she was feeling, unwilling to let it overwhelm her. She hadn't gotten angry. She had refused to cry. She had kept everything carefully _numb_ , which she knew was secretly annoying Mary Margaret to no end. Her friend was of the opinion that letting things out was infinitely healthier than keeping them in, and she was probably right. Right now, seeing Killian in person for the first time that day, Emma was finding it very, very hard to keep her emotions in check. 

Perhaps having noticed she looked upset, Mary Margaret nudged her gently. 

“Hey. Want to go to the library?” 

Emma nodded, and began to gather her books. 

“Uh, guys,” Ruby said suddenly, sitting up a bit. “Killian's coming over here.” 

Emma's head snapped up, their entire group whipping around to see. Sure enough, Killian was walking across the playground towards them, his eyes trained on Emma. He looked exhausted, almost sickly, face pale and dark bags under his eyes.

David glanced at Emma, then got to his feet and jogged to meet him halfway. Emma watched as the two boys engaged in a hushed but heated conversation, ending with Killian trying to walk around David and David shoving him back so roughly that he stumbled a few paces. 

Mary Margaret tugged at Emma's sleeve. “Come on,” she said gently. “Library.” 

Emma nodded, tearing her gaze away.

She didn't see Killian again until period 6. She was waiting for her history extension teacher outside her classroom and he was waiting in line for a different class on the other side of the corridor when she turned and caught a glimpse of him. He had been looking at her, and seemed like he was about to come over, but as she watched Regina nudged him pointedly and he stopped and turned his head away.

 

* * *

 

 

On Tuesday they had English together, period 2.

As they were no longer working on the project in class, Emma was spared from having to interact with Killian – but still found herself uncomfortably, acutely aware of his presence on the other side of the room. 

“Only a week to go until this is due!” Belle announced, and promptly wrote '7 days' surrounded by a large circle on the board, in case they had somehow missed hearing her. “So I hope you've all been working on it. Now, we're going to miss our lesson tomorrow because of the swimming carnival, so today we're going to start our theme analysis tables and I want you to finish them off for Thursday-”

There was a rap at the door, and she broke off, looking a bit startled before moving to open it. 

“Oh! Dr Hopper. What can I do for you?” 

“Sorry to interrupt your class, but can I just grab Killian for a moment?” He peered into the room.

Emma very pointedly did not look up as Killian trudged outside. She could not, however, ignore the repeated kicking of her chair that began moments later. 

“Emma! Emma! Emma!” a voice hissed behind her. 

She twisted in her seat to see Victor. 

“ _What_?” she demanded. Beside her, Mary Margaret looked up from her work and frowned. 

Victor was frowning too. “I need to talk to you,” he said. 

“About _what_?” While she was annoyed at Regina's entire group, Victor a little less so. Unlike certain other people she could speak of, he was at least loyal to Ruby, and Emma was glad he'd made her get out of the party before Regina could see her and get annoyed.

“Things,” he replied, very helpfully. “Do you have a study period before lunch?”

She consulted her timetable. “Yeah, period 4. What's this about?” 

“I'll tell you then,” he said, and promptly returned to his work.

“What did he want?” Mary Margaret whispered.

“Hell if I know,” Emma replied, though she was starting to feel a bit nervous.

She didn't want to hear whatever it was Victor had to say. Most of her wanted to forget about her stupid – stupid, _stupid_ – mistake in trusting Killian. Wanted to put it all behind her and never think about it again. 

But at the same time, she was curious as to exactly _what_ he had to talk to her about. She didn't know if he had been in on Regina's scheme or not – but either way, if he had some sort of information, particularly about anything Regina and Killian might have deceitfully got on her... she wanted to know. 

Killian still had not come back to class by the time they were dismissed. 

At recess, he was not sitting with his group. 

In period 3, he walked into maths ten minutes late and got told off by Mr Gold. Said teacher was more frosty than Emma had ever seen him, obviously still holding a grudge about what had happened on Friday night. While outwardly, he continued to teach as though nothing had happened, he held himself a little more rigidly, spoke in more biting tones, had less patience with the students and fixed both Emma and Killian with continual icy stares. 

From where Emma was sitting, Killian's front-and-centre seat was in her immediate line of sight. Her attempts to ignore him were foiled by the fact that every few minutes, he would slowly tilt forward in his seat before snapping back upright. She stared at him, puzzled, then abruptly realised that he was continually drifting off to sleep.

_...what._

“Mr Jones!” Mr Gold snapped suddenly, and slammed his cane down on Killian's desk. The boy jumped so violently that he knocked his textbook off his desk, and it fell to the floor with a heavy _thud_.

“I'm sorry, dearie, is my class _boring_ you so much that you can't even stay awake in it?” Gold demanded.

Because Killian was apparently unable to open his mouth without it getting him in trouble, he replied, a touch groggily, “Actually, yeah. I think that really reflects on you as a teacher.”

“Get out,” Gold informed him coldly. “There's no place for students like you here. Why don't you sleepwalk yourself over to Ms Mills' office?”

Emma wondered if she ought to feel satisfied at watching Killian get in trouble after what he had done to her.

She didn't. 

She just felt a bit queasy, especially as she recalled what Cora had said last night. _You are walking a very, very thin line_. 

She was almost relieved when her period 4 study finally rolled around. Whatever Victor had to tell her, it had better offer her some closure.

Ruby shared her study period, and was waiting in the library for Emma when she arrived.

“There's something I have to tell you,” she said, before Emma could even sit down.

“What?”

“I told Victor,” Ruby said. At Emma's blank look, she added, “About what Regina told you. I wasn't sure if he knew.”

“...what?” Emma repeated, still not following.

“That Regina and Killian were using you to get to Neal? I asked him about it. He didn't know.”

“Uh, okay,” Emma said, not quite sure what to expect.

Before she could get even more confused, Victor arrived. He plonked his books on the table, and sat down next to Ruby, stretching an arm out over the back of her chair. She rolled her eyes, but didn't pull away. Emma would normally have found it kind of sweet, but couldn't quite bring herself to feel happy for them.

“What do you have to say to me?” she asked Victor, not wanting to beat around the bush.

“Right.” He leaned across the table towards her. “Something's up.”

“What do you mean something's up?”

“With Killian. And Regina. And you.”

“Yeah, I know exactly what's up,” she said stiffly, angry. Was he only here to bring it up again, to make her suffer more? “Killian is a total asshole who lied to me. Used to me to get information about Neal so that he can, I don't know, mess with Mr Gold or something. And Regina was in on it too.”

“Yeahhhhh no,” Victor said, holding a finger up.

She glared at him. “What do you mean, _yeah no_?!”

“I mean, yeah no, I'm pretty sure that's not what happened.”

Emma had been two seconds away from up and leaving. As it was, she stared at him, unsure exactly what he was getting at. 

Ruby touched her hand and gave her an earnest look. “I trust him,” she said quietly, with a glance at Victor, who had let a rather more serious expression start seeping through his grin. 

 _Walk away. Leave this. Don't get deeper into it_ , Emma's common sense urged her. _Start building those walls back up – don't put them in even more jeopardy!_

At the same time – something was nagging at her. The desire to know exactly what was going on. To have all the information for once. To not let things rest, but dig deeper until she finally _understood_.

She gave Victor a curt nod.

“Talk,” she grunted, and he did.

“Okay. So before the party, right, you and Killian were friends.” 

It seemed like so long ago, even though it had only been, what, four days? The memory hurt. _It wasn't real_.

She said as much, and Victor snorted.

“Okay, right, that was why Killian was the happiest I've ever seen him.”

“Happiest?”

He nodded. “At first I thought he was just down because he'd hit a dry streak. The last two months or so? Let's just say the parade of girls trickled to a halt. Anyway, even since he came here Killian's always had that sort of broody melancholy thing going on. Kind of like Hamlet,” he added, nudging Ruby's arm, and she gave a small smile.

“Anyway,” Victor continued. “Since he started that project with you? I think it's the only time since I met him that I've ever seen him totally chilled out and relaxed. I mean, that's some pretending.”

Emma pressed her lips together. It wasn't enough. Wasn't enough at all.

“Also,” Victor said, and she looked up. “Like I said. Something is up with Regina and Killian. Since, like, halfway through last year? They started creeping off and doing stuff together. And at first I thought, maybe they're banging!”

Ruby gave a loud snort, and Victor grinned. 

“Or just bonding as friends,” he added. “Except this year it really intensified, and I started listening in more to see what was going on. They're plotting something. Something to do with Mr Gold. That's why they wanted to use Neal for information. I have no idea what it is – something like they're trying to get revenge on him for something?”

_Revenge._

It fit. Killian hated Mr Gold for some reason. Killian wanted to get some sort of dirt on him via Neal. Killian was a self-professed believer in the justice of revenge.

“So the way you fit into this,” Victor said. “After Ruby told me what happened last night, I was very confused. Because Regina and Killian were pretty open about how they were pretending to be friends with Neal, since our whole group dislikes him, but they never mentioned anything about _you_. Nothing at all. And it really, really doesn't fit. Killian messes with Mary Margaret because he knows what happened between her and Regina, and he dislikes David because they fight all the time, but he's got nothing against you. Or Ruby. Nothing personal enough to do something that mean, anyway.”

“How can you know that?” she asked, and Victor shook his head.

“He doesn't mess around with a girl's heart like that. I've seen the guy in action, and let me tell you, he makes it abundantly clear that deep feelings are not going to be involved.”

“He did it with Aurora,” Emma said, and Victor grimaced.

“Aurora was... different. I think he needed to get in Regina's good books, show her he was willing to do what she wanted to meet a common goal. Again – the Mr Gold thing.”

“Still not buying it,” Emma replied flatly.

She couldn't risk herself again. Not on circumstantial evidence. 

“Okay,” Victor said, starting to sound frustrated. “How about this – he is _dying_ to talk to you, but Regina won't let him.”

Ruby frowned. “What do you mean, Regina won't let him?”

“I mean since Friday every time I walk in on them having a conversation it's all ' _if you want this you have to focus'_ and ' _I told her that so that you could keep your head in the game, I did you a favour'_ and ' _if you want my help with this you do what I say'_. That's paraphrased, by the way.”

Emma leaned back in her seat. It was... a lot to take in. Almost too much. She was starting to grow seriously sick of things being thrown at her all the time. Just when she started to comprehend one truth, another was flung her way, knocking everything out of whack.

It seemed stability was doomed to evade her forever. 

She opened her mouth, and Victor cut in.

“But wait, there's more!”

“Oh my God,” Ruby said. “Have you just been spying on them all weekend?”

“It was like a puzzle!” he replied. “After you told me, it was like everything I'd been subconsciously noticing all year suddenly started falling into place. I think I might be the next Sherlock Holmes.”

Emma sighed. “What's in this for you, anyway?” she asked – Victor had never come across as the sort of person who'd help others from the sheer kindness of his heart.

He shook his head slowly. “It may come as a surprise to you, but our group – we actually are all _friends_. We care about each other. I care about Killian – and Regina. I don't like whatever this is that they're mixed up in. Neither of them...” he hesitated, and then seemed to decide to continue on.

“Neither of them are fine. I mean, they both see Dr Hopper every week and I'm pretty sure it's doing bugger all good. We're not the sort of people who air our feelings at each other or anything, but... I'm concerned. And I want to help them. And while I wouldn't say I _like_ you,” this with a nod at Emma, “I think you deserve to at least know whether people are _actually_ screwing you over or not.” 

Ruby smiled at him, and he ducked his head a bit. And that action was enough for Emma to get that he was genuine, because she _read_ people, and right now she could see that Victor liked Ruby. Liked her enough that he wouldn't mess with her the way he messed with other people, and God, that was the way Killian used to react to her. Or at least, she'd thought he had. 

“Fine,” she said. “I believe you. What else have you got?”

He sobered quickly. “Tomorrow is the swimming carnival. They're planning to do something. I have no idea what it is, but they've been muttering about it for the last fortnight.”

“What sort of something?” Emma asked.

“I just said! I have no idea. But that's why Regina got so mad, I think. She's been planning this, and she won't let anything stuff it up.”

He fixed Emma with an intense stare. “And Killian getting close to you? Close enough that he punched Neal, chess piece in their carefully planned strategy? Yeah, that was stuffing it up.”

Emma swallowed.

She had had it wrong, it seemed. Somehow, somehow, despite all her efforts – she had misjudged the situation.

She wasn't a chess piece in their game, she was an _interference_.

“What are you going to do?” Ruby asked her in a low tone.

“I...” Emma paused. What _was_ she going to do?

So Killian hadn't been stringing her along. Maybe.

She still didn't trust him.

 _Couldn't_ trust him, not after seeing what he did to Neal. Or at least, not let him in as closely as she had been before the party. Because this whole incident – it was only solidifying in her mind that letting people in was _dangerous_. She had been foolish not to realise it sooner.

But at the same time... something was obviously going down, and despite everything, she cared about him. At least enough for her to want to look into things, make sure he wasn't about to get himself expelled.

“I'm going to find out what's happening,” she determined, and Victor gave a firm nod.

“We're on the same page then,” he said. “What colour house are you guys in?”

“Blue,” Emma said.

“I'm in red,” Ruby added. 

“Okay,” Victor said. “Killian's in red too, Regina's in gold, I'm in green. You two keep an eye on Killian and I'll keep an eye on Regina.”

“How are we meant to do that?” Emma asked. As a general rule, you weren't meant to stray out of your house area at a carnival. 

“Disguise, of course. Wear red on the day. Literally no one has it memorised who's in what colour house. If you wear red they'll assume you're in red.”

The bell for lunch rang, startling them all, and Victor got to his feet.

“Got to run, I want to get to the canteen before lines form. I have to meet up with a teacher.” He gathered up his books, blew a kiss to Ruby that was only slightly sarcastic, and dashed out of the building, the librarian hollering after him not to run inside. 

“Well,” Ruby said, glancing at Emma.

“Well,” Emma repeated, with a heavy sigh. _So much for closure._

On the one hand, there was the hope that she hadn't been horrendously off the mark with Killian. Hadn't been as much a fool as she had thought.

On the other... it seemed things went much, much deeper than she had ever expected, and this little Nancy Drew quest to find out what was going on was landing her right in the middle of it.

Let it never be said, however, that Emma Swan had shied away from the difficult.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *hides under rock* super, super sorry, but I'm getting a bit burnt out from the daily updates, and I need to plan exactly what happens the next few chapters, so I'm taking a tiny break!
> 
> Not to worry, though, it'll only be for 1 or 2 days. Next chapter will probably be up Wednesday, barring some emergency, Thursday at the latest :)


	10. Resolve

 “You're wearing red,” David said, sounding very confused.

Emma was indeed wearing red. A lot of red. Possibly a little too much, but then again, it was the swimming carnival. Going overboard on the costumes got you house points.

“...yes,” she replied.

“But... we're in blue.” David looked incredibly concerned, as though he was worried the stress of recent events had affected her so greatly that she had suffered some form of short-term memory loss.

“I know that,” she replied calmly. “But I've decided to sit in red today. Keep Ruby company.” 

After some thought, she had made the tactical decision not to tell David and Mary Margaret what they were doing. She just didn't have the energy to deal with them trying to convince her not to.

David was not a stupid man. He frowned at her, probably wondering what had brought on this sudden decision. 

“...you know Killian's in red, right?” he said.

“I know,” Emma replied. “And we are going to sit far, far away from him. Besides, he's not swimming today, and if recent maths classes are anything to go by he'll probably sleep through the entire thing. Nothing to worry about,” she added, and gave him her most convincing smile. “Lip-sync extra hard for me, will you?” 

That got a laugh out of him, and he seemed satisfied. 

The theme of this year's swimming carnival was ' _from our childhood_ '. Emma was on one of the last buses to go to the pool, and when she arrived things were in full swing. The four colour houses sat in their designated areas in the stands, decorated with red, blue, green and yellow balloons and streamers. People were yelling and shouting, a few of the boys banging on the lids of plastic garbage bins in lieu of drums. Excitable juniors dashed back and forth next to the pool, in danger of slipping on the wet ground and falling into the water. 

Not being one to make a huge fuss out of things, Emma had never really gotten into the spirit of the carnival, or dressed up in costume – although when she had offhandedly mentioned the theme to Astrid, the woman had managed to dig out a red Jessie cowgirl hat from somewhere, which she wore.

There were Teletubbies running around, though, a few people in Powerpuff Girls costumes, a couple of Disney princesses, Mickey Mouses (Mice?) and a handful of Donald Ducks. The vast majority of the Gold house seemed to be dressed as Spongebob Squarepants.

She quickly located Ruby, already in the red area, and moved to sit down next to her.

“Hey!” Ruby said, shifting over to make room. She was somehow managing to make a Mario hat look chic. “Oooh, nice leather jacket!”

“Thanks!” Emma replied. “I found it while scouring my wardrobe for anything red. I don't want it getting wet though. I'll take it off once the swimming starts.”

“Looks good. You should keep wearing it.” Ruby grinned, then leaned forward and pointed to the seats a few rows below them. It took Emma a while to spot Killian; he was wearing a floppy blue elf hat with a bell on the end. Beside him sat someone in a red beanie, who she quickly recognised as Smee.

“Right,” Emma said. “Where's Victor?”

“He is one of the myriad of Spongebobs lurking around over there,” Ruby replied drily. “By the way, what's with all the blue Teletubbies? There's no blue Teletubby.”

“Dude. Tinky Winky.”

“He's _purple_.”

“No, I'm pretty sure it's blue.”

“Nope, it's purple, unless I was colourblind as a child.”

“I swear to God, it's blue.” Emma was glad of the banter, it distracted her from the fact that her stomach was suddenly churning with nerves. She had absolutely no idea what she was getting into here. Regina's group drama was usually something she kept well away from, and now here she was, plunging right in. Marvellous.

By now almost everyone had arrived, and it seemed it was time for the events to begin. With a loud crackling noise, the PA system around the pool blared to life.

“Attention, everybody,” Mr Gold's voice drawled out, slightly tinny and monotonous through the speakers. Then again, he had never been particularly enthusiastic about sports. “Everyone in the 12 to 13 age group who is competing in the 50m backstroke, go and line up at the marshalling area.”

“Mr Gold's doing the announcing,” Emma said to Ruby with a frown. That meant he'd be sitting up in the commentator's booth all day, and she wondered if this played into Regina and Killian's plan at all.

The races began.

Emma had never been particularly patriotic towards her colour house, but she still felt a little bit like she was betraying them when the cheers began and she began her usual awkward mouthing to ' _we are red, mighty mighty red, and if you can't hear us we'll shout a little louder!_ '

Killian did not move. He stayed where he was sitting, a few rows down from them, occasionally waved around a red balloon, and seemed not to care that he and Smee were the only people cheering in their area when Sidney of the green house narrowly beat Billy of red in the 100m breast stroke.

Two hours ticked by with nothing out of the ordinary happening.

David came second in a race.

Green lost ten house points for leaving too much rubbish in their area. 

Ruby swapped her Mario cap for a terrifying Ronald McDonald mask that made her look like she was about to murder somebody.

Finally, as the cheering stopped for a while so that people could eat lunch, Emma looked up from her sandwich to find Killian getting to his feet.

“Hey! He's moving,” she hissed to Ruby.

They both watched intently as he waded carefully through the sea of legs and bags in the stands, went over to Mr Jefferson and...

Picked up the bathroom pass.

“Ugh,” Ruby slumped over. “Maybe Victor was mistaken?”

“I don't know – oh, crap, he's coming over here.” Emma ducked back behind Ruby and snatched up a red piece of paper with the words to the cheers printed on it, holding it up to cover her face. They were sitting right near the stairs leading up to the bathroom area, and she didn't want Killian to see her. He'd know something was up right away.

To her great dismay, Killian walked to the top of the stairs, paused, turned around and came back to stand in front of Ruby.

“Hey,” he said.

“...hi,” Ruby replied. Given that their entire group was supposed to still be wallowing in the depths of mortal hatred for what he'd done to Emma, she added, “What the hell do you want?”

“Is Emma alright?” he asked. The concern in his voice surprised her, and she stared at the red paper in front of her as though if she tried hard enough she would develop x-ray vision and be able to see through it to the look on his face.

“What?” Ruby asked, taken aback. “She's fine, no thanks to you!”

“I didn't... I never had any intention of hurting her. What Regina told her was untrue. I was never using her. Can you tell her that?”

“Tell her yourself,” Ruby replied, sounding genuinely irritated. “Unless you're too scared of Regina to risk pissing her off.”

_You tell him_ , Emma thought grimly – that had been bothering her since yesterday. Killian had certainly never come across as the sort of person who would let anyone tell him what to do, even Regina.

As it was, out of the corner of her eye she saw Killian pause, peer around Ruby and lean towards her.

“Who's that? Why are you hiding behind that paper?” he asked. 

_Crap_ , thought Emma, and abandoned her disguise entirely. Tossing the bulletin aside, she raised her eyebrows at him, and may or may not have relished the look of surprise on his face.

“Maybe because I didn't want to see you after you let me think you had completely screwed me over?” she asked.

Killian grimaced. “I-”

“You what? Were too worried about Regina to even _email me_ to let me know she'd been lying? What could possibly be so _important_ that you'd let me think you betrayed me? Especially when-” 

And here she broke off. She couldn't bring herself to say it out loud. _Especially when you know how I feel about people betraying me, abandoning me. Especially since I_ opened up _about that to you._

Killian looked stricken, but before he could say anything, David was storming up to them. Rather aptly, he was wearing a superman shirt.

“What's going on here?!” he demanded, glancing at Emma and Ruby with concern and Killian with undisguised distaste.

Killian pasted on a bland smile. “Nothing that concerns you!” 

“Why are you hanging around Emma? Haven't you done enough?” David demanded, and Killian's face clouded over.

“You should stay out of things you know nothing about-”

“What's going on here?” Ms Blue – who, rather ironically, was not assigned to the blue house – came marching up the stairs towards them. “David, you don't look like you're in red! Go back to where you're meant to be!”

“Superman does have a red cape,” Ruby supplied helpfully.

“Hey, what's happening?” On his way back from the loo, Victor descended the stairs, looking concerned. “What's going on?”

“Nothing,” Killian replied.

“You stay away from them!” David said, pointing a very threatening finger.

“ _I said_ , everybody go back to their houses!” Ms Blue cried. “Unless you want me to start deducting points!”

“Oh, the horror,” Killian muttered under his breath, but shoved past David and walked off up the stairs. David glowered after them, then crouched beside Emma. 

“Are you alright?”

“I'm fine,” she began, but Ms Blue cut in, expression thunderous. 

“David! Go back to blue. Victor, go back to gold.” She turned to Ruby and Emma, realised they were already sitting in the correct area, and then shook a finger in warning before marching off. 

The two boys left, although Emma noticed that David sat at the very edge of blue and continued to look in their direction.

Killian still hadn't returned by the time Emma was called up to a race she had signed up for at the beginning of the year.

Being rather distracted, she came second-last – although you got points for participating anyway – and when she returned to her seat Ruby was waving at her frantically.

“He's gone!” she cried.

“What?” Emma asked. She reached for her towel and wrapped it around her shoulders, vigorously drying her hair. “Who, Killian?”

“Yeah! I looked away for like, two seconds to see you race, and when I turned back he was gone!”

Emma's head snapped around. She searched for Killian amongst the stands, but saw only Smee, still sitting where he had been before. 

“Where'd he go?” she demanded. 

Ruby shook her head. “He didn't come up these stairs, I'd have seen him go past!”

Which left walking along the edge of the pool, but that didn't really lead anywhere, just the changing rooms, canteen and –

– and the stairwell leading up to the announcement booth, where Mr Gold was.

Or rather, where Mr Gold should have been, because as she glanced around the immediate area she saw him hurrying across the pool area towards a fight that had broken out between a group of year 11s. Narrowing her eyes, Emma noticed Regina within said group.

“He's in the booth,” she told Ruby. “Stay here! Text me if Gold starts coming back.”

Without waiting for a response, she grabbed her bag and jogged off across the pool.

 

* * *

 

Killian was hunched over the desk in the commentator's room, rummaging furiously through Mr Gold's bag.

Emma had moved rather silently, and he was so engrossed in whatever he was doing that he didn't notice she was standing in the doorway until she cleared her throat loudly. He jumped, spinning wildly around, almost comically alarmed.

“Bloody hell, Swan!” he exclaimed. And then did a double take as he looked at her. “ _Bloody hell, Swan_?”

“What?” she asked, glancing down at herself, and promptly realised she was dripping wet and in nothing but her bathers. “Dude! I just came from a race!” 

His eyes flicked back up to her face. “What are you doing here?” he asked, harshly. His hand was still on Mr Gold's bag, and her eyes narrowed.

“What are _you_ doing here?” she snapped back. “Is this what you and Regina were setting up? You want to, what, steal something from him?”

“No!” he said. “You need to go. _Now_.”

“Maybe I don't want to go. Maybe I just want to know what the hell is going on here, and why I was dragged into the middle of it-”

“You _weren't_ ,” he replied, desperately. He glanced between the bag and Emma, as though torn between getting on with what he had been doing, and talking to her. After a moment his hand slipped off the bag and he turned to face her fully.

“You weren't,” he repeated. “Regina – she was lying. You have nothing to do with this.”

“Except I _do_ ,” she replied. “Regina pulled me into it when she said that you were using me. I...” she paused, unsure if she wanted to continue, then pushed on. “I trusted you. Heck, I _liked_ you. We were friends. And now, what? You're just going to chuck me aside so you can do... whatever it is you're doing?”

“It's not like that-”

“Then what _is_ it like?” and she was starting to get properly annoyed now. “What is it like, Killian? What's Regina got on you?!”

“She's helping me with this! And I need her – I _need_ her help. This is really bloody important, okay?!”

“ _What_ is really important?! What is this?” She forced herself to lower her voice lest someone hear them and come to see what was going on.

“It's...” he glanced away, staring at the ground for a minute before he looked back at her. His eyes were blazing – filled with burning pain, anger, resentment, more hurt than she'd ever seen in him. “It's revenge,” he said. “It's revenge on Mr Gold. We're not stealing from him. We're getting rid of him.”

For some bizarre, unknown reason, _murder_ was Emma's first thought. Which was absolutely ridiculous and probably a sign that she'd been reading too much Hamlet lately.

“Getting rid of him? What's that supposed to mean?”

He'd returned to rummaging in the bag, and she came to stand by his side, pulling the towel down around her shoulders to keep her hair from dripping all over the floor. As she watched, he fished out Mr Gold's phone. She grabbed his wrist before he could do anything else.

“What do you mean,” she repeated, “Getting rid of him?” 

“Getting him fired,” he said, quietly. He looked at her intensely, as though pleading for her to understand. “Ms Mills? She _hates_ him. Hates him with a passion. She's been wanting to get rid of him for ages, but she can't.”

“Why? He's got tenure?”

“No, he has friends on the Board of Schools. Well, I say 'friends'. I'm pretty sure blackmail is involved.”

“So what, exactly, are you planning to do?”

“Swan, I don't have _time_ -” he glanced desperately out of the window that overlooked the pool. Mr Gold was still stuck sorting out the year 11s. It seemed Regina was doing a fine job of distracting him.

She tugged his wrist until he looked back around at her. “It's fine. Ruby's gonna text me if he comes back. Now, _explain_.”

He bit his lip. Then he nodded. “Okay. If you really want to know. We've been trying to find something he's done – something that would be enough to get him fired. Except there's _nothing_ , he's too careful-” 

Emma let go of him, running a hand through her hair. “Are these the 'drastic measures' Regina was talking about?”

“Yeah,” he said, and his lips twitched upwards a bit, ruefully. “I broke into his office to look through his stuff. Except I couldn't find anything, and then he came back suddenly so I had to jump out the window and, well...” he trailed off, tapping his cast. 

“Wait, _seriously_? That's how you broke it?” 

He nodded, rubbing the back of his neck a bit sheepishly. “Put my hand out to stop the fall. Rookie error. Regina had to drive me to the hospital, which was very fun for everyone involved. Anyway, we can't find anything on him. So we're gonna plant something. That's what this is about. Do you understand now?”

She understood.

She understood that he was completely and utterly _mad_. Because she had expected a lot of things – playing some sort of trick to humiliate Gold, or nicking something from him, or – well, any number of things. But she hadn't thought they'd go _this_ far, making him wrongfully lose his job.

“God,” she said. “ _God_. Killian, _no_ , you can't do this!”

He glanced at her, pressed his lips together, and turned the phone on, swiping his thumb across the screen to unlock it.

“ _Killian_ ,” she snapped. And crap, crap, she was mixed up in this _way_ too deep now. “Does Ms Mills know about this?”

“No,” he said harshly, and glanced up at her. “You can't tell her!”

“And you can't _do this_!” She snatched for the phone and he swung it up, out of her reach, and took a few steps back away from her. 

“ _Swan_! I _am_ doing this, I _have_ to!”

“ _Why_? Why do you have to? If he finds out – if _anyone_ finds out, you're gonna get in trouble. _So much_ trouble, Killian! I'm pretty sure this might even be illegal!”

He continued to stare at her, eyes blazing. And then uttered darkly, slowly: “No. I have to... _is't not to be damned to let this canker of our nature come to further evil_?”

“Great! Marvellous! Quote Hamlet at the police, I'm sure they'll let you right off the hook!” She stepped towards him again and he glared, this time seeming genuinely angry.

“Don't touch me, Swan,” he spat. “Don't try to stop me.”

“Or you'll do what?” she asked, angrily. “Hit me? And since when did you start calling me Swan again? I'm _Emma_ , Killian. I'm Emma and we were _friends_.”

He got that look on his face again, as though there were two magnets in his mind pushing him in opposite directions. As though he hated what he was doing yet couldn't quite stop himself from doing it. 

“I have to,” he said finally, voice raw. “ _I have to_. He's done it himself.”

“What?”

“Got someone fired who shouldn't have been. A... a _good_ person. He's hurt people. He's a _monster_ Emma! He's a monster. He blackmails people. The way he treated his wife...”

“How do you _know_ all this about him?” she demanded. “What are you doing with that phone?”

“He keeps everything – all his passwords, his safe combination, addresses – saved on a file on here. I can't unlock it, but I know someone who can. You don't need to know the rest.” 

She stared at him. _How the hell does he know so much about Mr Gold?_  

“Killian,” she said, slowly, “Don't do this. You will get in a ridiculous amount of trouble. It's not worth it, this is _stupid_. Just _stop_.” 

He looked at the phone for a long moment, then at her. Then he took a deep breath, and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Sorry, Swan,” he said, and began typing.

For a moment she contemplated grabbing the phone from him. But she wasn't sure she'd be able to do it without injuring one or both of them, and before she had time to make a proper decision, he had finished and was crossing the room to stuff the phone back in the bag.

Suddenly Emma's own mobile vibrated, and she glanced at it to find the text from Ruby warning of Gold's impending return. 

“He's coming back,” she said, and Killian nodded curtly. They left the room quickly, heading down the stairs. Rather than going back to his colour house, Killian ducked around the side of the changing rooms to a quiet, secluded area behind the stands. Emma followed.

For a few minutes he didn't look at her, just stared up at the sky and swallowed hard a couple of times. 

Emma thought she should probably say something, but wasn't sure what. She didn't know quite how she was feeling, and this disconcerted her. A mixture of disappointed, nervous. Irritated.

Finally Killian rubbed a hand over his face, and turned to her.

“I'm sorry,” he said, voice genuine and a little hoarse. “I needed to do this so badly that I didn't want to risk Regina pulling out. So I hurt you. And that was.... cowardly of me. I'm sorry.”

He was, she could tell. And if that little display back at the booth had been anything to go by, he was... ridiculously intense about Mr Gold. She wondered again what had happened – and, incidentally, why _Regina_ wanted him fired too.

“It's... fine,” she replied.

Except it wasn't, not really, because he had still hurt her. Betrayed her. Perhaps he hadn't messed up as badly as Neal had but... the dynamic between them had shifted now, and she wasn't sure it could ever return to normal. And especially not if he continued on this mad quest for revenge.

He looked like he didn't quite believed her, but at that moment, Regina turned the corner and walked towards them. 

When she saw Emma, her face clouded over, but Killian stepped forward quickly. 

“Before you say anything,” he said, “I did it. I got the file. So we leave Emma out of this from now on. Do you understand?” 

She looked between them, gave a loud snort as though she knew something they didn't, and rolled her eyes. “Perfectly,” she replied, “as long as you did what you had to.”

“I emailed the file to him. It might take some time before he can get it back to us.”

“Fine,” she said. “In that case, I'll leave the two of you to... whatever it was that you were up to.”

And she did just that, except it turned out that what they had been up to was awkward silence, getting awkwarder by the minute.

“So,” Killian said after a moment. “Did you win any races?”

“Nope.”

More silence.

“It took me a while,” she said, looking at him, “To work out why you were wearing a blue hat since you're in red. Are you meant to be Noddy?”

“Yes. You're the first person to recognise it.”

“You know they remade that but redubbed everyone with American accents?”

“What? _Blasphemy._ ”

The loudspeaker crackled and Mr Gold's voice rang out – slightly muffled since there were no speakers on this side of the building. Emma briefly caught something about a race in her age group, and winced. 

“Oh, _crap_ , I signed up for the butterfly. I think I missed it.” She didn't even care about the race that much, but it broke the ice a bit for them both to laugh and run to check if the event had started yet.

It wasn't until she was halfway through her first lap that she realised she had no idea how she felt about Killian any more.

She had loathed him at first. And then started to reconsider, and then genuinely liked him, and then loathed him again. 

And now? Now, she had no idea.

She didn't like the person he had been up in the announcement booth. Intense and angry and almost violently obsessed with what he was doing. 

At the same time... she could almost understand it. Because the pain had been genuine, and Mr Gold must have done _something_ to cause that – and she had felt like that too. Not even just once, but after every betrayal, after every foster home that sent her back. She had felt like she just wanted to _hurt_ somebody. She just hadn't acted on it. 

And now? Now she'd gotten herself involved. And, she rationalised, the best way to stay in the loop, to give herself at least a bit of control over the situation, would be to remain in this tentatively restored friendship with Killian, and reconvene with Ruby and Victor later on.

 

 


	11. Little

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is late! Didn't have time to post to AO3 last night.
> 
> Another fluffy friendship/romance-building chapter ahoy :)

“They want to get Mr Gold _fired_?” Victor cried. He pulled a face. “Hm. I knew Killian hated him, but I didn't think he'd be stupid enough to try and pull something like that.”

“Should we tell someone?” Ruby asked. “I mean – should we warn him, or something?”

Emma shook her head vigorously. “I don't want to get them in trouble! It seemed like... like he really had a reason for wanting to do it. A good reason. I mean – it's  _ stupid _ , but if we report it Killian will be expelled for sure. He's already pretty much on his last chance with Ms Mills.”

There was a moment of tense silence. They were huddled in a corner of the library between the reference books and the storage cupboard, having met there in another shared study period.

“You said Ms Mills wants him fired as well,” Victor mused. “She can't plant it herself?”

“I don't know,” Emma replied, frustrated. “I only know what he told me! Besides, there's nothing she can do if Gold finds out and takes it to his possibly-blackmailed friends who outrank her on the School Board. So for now, I reckon we keep it between ourselves. Besides, it probably won't even work – I don't know what he's planning but it involves breaking into some sort of file that Gold kept on his phone. What are the odds that they actually have someone with... I don't know, hacking skills? Hacking skills that are that good?”

Victor frowned, but said nothing, and Emma sighed, rubbing her hands over her face.

“I think all we can do is try and convincethem not to do it. Which will be hard when I don't even know _why_ he hates Gold so much.”

“Do you know?” Ruby asked Victor, and he shook his head.

“No. I've asked him a bunch of times. He always replies with variations on a crocodile metaphor.”

“Dry skin?” Emma asked, and Victor nodded with a small smile.

“Yeah, he fed me that one too. Seriously though – I don't remember them hating each other that much at first. As year 9 went on Killian started to dislike him, but this crazy intense thing? That started in year 10. I know because when we found out we had him for maths Killian got really mad.”

“So something happened between year 9 and year 10?” Emma mused, and Victor nodded, chewing his lip thoughtfully.

“Milah left,” he said, and Emma's brows furrowed.

“Milah? Gold's wife?”

“Yeah,” Victor said. “Killian's been in counselling since... well, practically as soon as he arrived, so I guess he would have had her before Dr Hopper replaced-”

“What's the secret meeting about?” Killian's voice rang out suddenly, and all three of them jumped, twisting where they sat on the floor to find him standing looking down at them with an amused expression.

“Dude! Shouldn't you be in class?” Victor asked. “Did you get kicked out again?”

“Nah. I'm here to print something.” He dumped his stuff down on the floor and sat beside them, squashing in between Emma and Victor. She shifted to make room for him, trying to ignore the warm press of his leg against hers.

The school internet was slow in the library, and it was a process connecting to the printer, so Killian leaned back against the wall and looked around at them expectantly. “Well? Why are you guys all hiding in this corner?”

“We were just talking,” Ruby began. “About... how we should all meet up to do the English assignment?”

“Yes,” Victor exclaimed, “Excellent! We should. The four of us. Meet up and discuss it. In fact, we thought we could collaborate on some of the topics. Ruby and I are doing _death_. I've been trying to construct an argument for why maximum effectiveness would be achieved if the final scene was staged with as much blood and gore as possible. Possibly Hamlet stabbing Claudius multiple times.”

“How delightful,” Killian replied. “Meeting up sounds good.” He cast Emma a little glance, which she returned curiously.

“Great!” Victor said. “How about... tonight? Are you working tonight?”

“Not till later. We could meet up.” He tapped at his laptop trackpad and then scooped up his belongings. “And I should go get my thing and return to class before I get busted. Library at five?”

“Sounds good,” Ruby said. He nodded, grinned at her and walked off towards the printer. After a moment, Emma got up and followed him.

“Need something, Swan?” he asked with raised eyebrow. “Or do you just need to bask in my company a little longer?”

She rolled her eyes. They'd had English this morning and had been given ten minutes at the end of the lesson to do some work on the assignment, after a few students complained that they were struggling to find the time to meet up out of class. Settling back into the routine of working on the project had made her more relaxed, falling back into the comfortable friendship they had established before. Thing's still weren't quite the same as they had been – but they were on their way.

“I wanted to remind you to bring that collage planning stuff we did at my place last Thursday. You took it home to work on it more.”

“Oh. That's right. Actually...” he dug in his pencil case, produced a packet of post-it notes, and scribbled something on one of them, then for lack of a hand ripped off the post-it with his teeth and passed it to her.

“Is this your phone number?” she asked, staring at it.

“Aye. I sometimes don't check my school email, so it's more convenient for you to text me. Or call.” He raised an eyebrow again, and she huffed.

“Right. Okay. I'll message you after school so you have my number.”

“I will memorise it and keep it close to my heart always,” he teased, pressing a hand to his chest, and she snorted.

“You do that. See you this afternoon.”

She returned to the others, and Ruby's eyes instantly zeroed in on the note that Emma had stuck to her fingers.

“Did he just give you his number?” she asked with a grin.

“Yes,” Emma replied, “For assessment purposes.”

“I see,” Ruby replied, drily, and then she and Victor shared a look.

Emma's eyes narrowed. She knew exactly what they were thinking, and quite frankly, she wasn't buying into it. Killian acted like that with everyone. The only thing at all special about their relationship was that uncanny way he seemed to understand her – and even that wasn't quite enough to erase the two-year-strong trauma caused by Neal.

_Not yet, anyway_ . The treacherous thought floated into her head and she furiously shoved it away, tuned out Victor and Ruby's smug grins, and opened her book to get some work done.

 

* * *

 

The library was closed.

“Construction in progress?” Killian read aloud, squinting at the sign on the door. “What construction? I was in here literally yesterday.”

“Maybe they're starting renovations of some sort,” Ruby replied. She shifted the strap of her back pack. “We could sit outside?”

“We kind of need to work at a table,” Emma said, glancing at Killian.

Victor clapped his hands together. “I know just the place!”

“Oh, no,” Killian said, rolling his eyes. “Really?”

“Yes, really,” Victor replied.

“We will get absolutely no work done if we go in there,” Killian informed him, though he was smiling.

“We're not going to a club or anything, are we?” Emma asked, not really in the mood that day, but Victor shook his head.

“No. It's not a club. It's like a food place thing near the uni.”

“A food place thing?” Ruby questioned, nudging him with her elbow. “That's very informative.”

“People study there,” Killian said, rather more helpfully. “There are tables. But there's also a bar. And karaoke.”

“So what, like a study cafe full of unhelpful distractions?” Emma asked wryly.

“I guess,” Killian shrugged.

Ruby shot him a double thumbs up. “Sounds fine. Let's go!”

Emma shrugged and they headed towards the bus stop. Ruby walked ahead with Victor, leaving her to fall into step beside Killian.

“I have something for you,” he said.

“Something,” she repeated, and he grinned.

“A nice something. Hopefully.” He shifted his bag off one shoulder and rummaged around in it, emerging with a slightly crushed bouquet of flowers. It was the most random bunch she had ever seen; hydrangeas, sunflowers, lavender and a couple of deep red roses, tied around the middle with a scrap of white ribbon.

“Oh,” she said, a little startled.

“My second round of apology flowers,” he informed her. “This time they are larger, respective to the... larger transgression.”

“That's one way of putting it,” she muttered, and he looked a little bit put out, so she quickly grinned to show she was joking. “Thank you,” she said, and took them. “I said it was fine.”

“I know,” he replied, staring at her intensely. The unspoken  _but I know it wasn't_ hung in the air between them.

“Where did you get these, anyway?” she asked. “You didn't buy them, did you?” They certainly didn't look professionally cut.

“No. Consider them a gift from myself and a few of my neighbours.”

“You asked your neighbours for them?”

“...an _unintentional_ gift.”

She laughed. “You seriously just, what, walked past and nicked them from their gardens?”

“What's  _one_ flower each? They're not going to miss one flower,” he protested. “I'd've bought you some, but they are expensive and I am broke.”

_Broke_ . It explained the two jobs, except who was so desperate for their pocket money that they worked themselves to the point of falling asleep in class constantly? Pushing the thought away for later reflection, she just smiled at him and tucked the flowers in the crook of her arm.

“Thanks,” she said again, and he looked away and smiled.

Of course, Ruby and Victor then had to notice the flowers, and inquire whether someone had just performed a magic trick, and then Victor decided that Ruby ought to have some flowers as well and started pulling up yellow dandelions from the grass on the side of the road. Which naturally resulted in Killian making a comment about dogs doing their business on them, and Victor calling it a natural fertiliser, and then all of them having to run for the bus because they hadn't noticed it going by.

During the bus ride it became fairly obvious to Emma that Ruby and Victor were into each other. There was something different about it, though. Emma had seen Ruby work her way through a series of boys before, none of the relationships serious. Victor even more so. This time, however, Ruby's laughs seemed more genuine, her smiles gentler, and Victor's eyes stayed on her face, eyes soft as he watched her even when she wasn't looking back.

She glanced at Killian to see if he'd noticed, except there he was sitting there looking at  _her_ with an identical expression to the one Victor had on his face. When her eyes met his he looked away very quickly and Emma felt an odd nervousness in her stomach.

_I do not need this right now_ , she told herself, and took out her phone to play bubbleshooter for the rest of the ride.

 

 

The Rabbit Hole was a very bright, funky looking place a few streets away from the university. From the outside it looked a bit like some sort of retro club, but when they went in Emma noticed quite a few people their age hanging around, although the bar area by the side had a sign restricting it to over eighteens only.

There was some rather loud music playing that was not particularly conducive to productive study. Indeed, most people seemed to be here to just hang out or grab dinner. They found a corner booth and sit down, but no one made any move to pull out their books.

“Do you guys come here much?” Ruby asked, voice raised to be heard over the music.

Victor nodded. “Yeah – Smee, Killian and I more than the others. Regina's not mad on this place.”

Killian snorted loudly. “Too cheap for her!”

“That girl at the karaoke is pretty good,” Ruby commented, looking over her shoulder at an area a little way away. “Hey look – they have bowling. And snooker. I'm pretty sure this isn't a study place, guys.”

“It has a table!” Killian pointed out. “Which means we can collage. How are you guys presenting your thing?”

Emma admired his attempt to get the conversation back on track to work.

Victor didn't seem overly interested. He flapped a hand. “Powerpoint. Why fix what isn't broken? Ruby, do you sing?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Nah. No good. I can do ironic background harmonies, but that's it.”

“How about you, Emma?” Killian asked.

Giving up all hope of getting any work done, she decided she might as well just enjoy having a night off.

“A little,” she answered. “I was in the choir in primary school. Don't sing seriously now, though. Mary Margaret's much better than I am.”

“I don't know,” Killian replied, “I heard her at Open Day last year. A bit shrill.”

Victor snorted loudly.

“Guys,” Ruby chastised. “Mary Margaret's great. She sounds like a Disney princess.”

“Like I said,” Killian repeated. “Shrill.”

Emma shot him a disapproving look, and he raised his hand.

“Okay, okay. We shall leave all group animosity at the door. Alright, love?”

“Perfect,” she replied with a smirk, “And I shall not comment on that time Regina stacked it on the stairs and half-flashed the entirety of our year group.”

“Well,” Victor said. “Now that that's out of the way.”

They ended up ordering food, and the evening devolved into swapping school gossip and Killian and Victor trying to one-up each other with terrible stories. Emma found herself relaxing, enjoying herself.

It still felt a little bit strange, hanging out with this group. Because she'd gone out with Ruby before, but always just the two of them, or sometimes with Mary Margaret and David. With Killian and Victor, it was... different. Especially now that they'd agreed to leave the group drama behind them.

It was once two hours had passed and they were sitting around their dessert plates that Emma realised exactly how much this was set up like a double date. Victor and Ruby sat on one side of the booth, leaving her and Killian on the other side. The bunch of flowers he'd given her sitting in the middle of the table. Sharing dessert because they were too cheap to buy four (although admittedly she shared with Ruby).

“I am going to go and dance,” Victor announced abruptly.

“No one in here is dancing,” Ruby replied with amusement.

“Yes. Look over there.” He pointed, and they all turned to see.

“That's a group of people awkwardly jumping up and down in one corner,” Emma said, squinting at the crowded area between the karaoke and the snooker table. “In fact, I think they're making a vine.”

“Then I am going to go and be in their vine,” Victor announced. “Ruby, come with me!”

“No,” she laughed, but let him drag her up out of the booth and lead her off. Victor glanced over his shoulder at Killian and grinned, and Emma wondered what that was all about.

“So,” she said, breaking the silence.

“So,” Killian replied.

“...what a great deal of work we got done!” she commented, and he huffed out a laugh.

“We're still ahead, anyway. There's what, five or six days till it's due? We'll be fine.”

“Are you happy with it so far?” she asked. “I mean, objectively – do you think it'll get a good mark.”

“Of course! It's brilliant. Worst come to worst we'll get bonus marks for being the only people to not do a powerpoint,” he added with a grin, but quickly sobered. “Really, though? I have been amazed and humbled by your intelligence, your wit, your willingness to overlook my... previous misdemeanours for a better work ethic.”

Emma blinked. She had thought he was being sarcastic at first, but he sounded... a bit more serious than she was comfortable with.

“I could not have asked for a better partner for this assignment,” he said, looking right at her, and she forced herself to maintain eye contact. “It has been an honour working on this with you, Emma.”

_...what am I meant to say to that?_

“Thank you,” she finally replied, clearing her throat a bit awkwardly. Her chest felt strange suddenly, tight and tingly like it was full of static. “Uh, likewise. It's not done, yet though. Still gotta put it together and write the speech.”

He looked away and the odd intensity faded. “Yes. Of course. But the bulk of the analysis is done. I'm almost excited to write my essay in the exam.”

“It had better be about a theme. Last year they asked about Fortinbras,” she said. “If they do Polonius this year I will scream, I can't stand him.”

“Got to hate interfering old men,” he uttered darkly.

“Was that a dig at Mr Gold? Because he's more like-”

“Claudius,” he replied. “I know.”

It was like the atmosphere had dropped ten degrees, and Emma fought back a shudder. She wondered if she should ask him again what had happened, but the evening was going so well, and it had been nice to not have to think about all the drama that had gone on for the last few days.

“So that makes you Hamlet,” she said slowly, testing the waters. Talking about it in a round-about manner was probably for the best. Less messy.

“I'm... more of a Laertes, actually,” he replied cryptically.

Okay. She could do this.

Laertes. Also embarked on a quest for revenge. Disregarding the fact that it was against Hamlet, not Claudius... he had lost his entire family. His sister had been driven mad by Hamlet, hence why he wanted to avenge her. Duty played little role in it. It was about someone he cared about having been very badly hurt.

She recalled Victor's words from earlier. _Milah_?

But now was not the right time to bring them up. Not quite the opportune moment.

“Regardless,” she said instead, “You've... passed your pirate ship, then? You're going back to Denmark?”

He did not look at her when he nodded. “Yes.”

“You are absolutely certain you don't want to go to England instead?”

This time he did hold her gaze. He looked slightly less manic than he had at the swimming carnival, but still dangerously intense. It id not help that he was methodically ripping a paper napkin to shreds with the fingers of his right hand.

“ _Yes_ ,” he said.

She just nodded, slowly.

“Okay.”

Tense silence.

“I liked Laertes a lot more at the start of the play,” she spoke up. “And at the very end, when he realises what happened and helps out Hamlet. His revenge arc was a warning against being too rash and hasty. I think we wrote about that in part of the assignment. When he wasn't being driven so crazy... he was a lot more likeable.”

Killian looked rather pained.

Before he could say anything, a waitress bustled up to their table to clear the plates. She broke out in a wide smile when she saw the flowers still lying there.

“That's adorable,” she said. “You give them to her?” This addressed to Killian, who answered in the affirmative.

“That's so sweet,” she continued, stacking the dishes into a precariously swaying pile. “He's a keeper,” she informed Emma. “I wish my boyfriend did that. Not even a Valentine's Day card.”

Suddenly Emma was aware of just how close she was sitting to Killian, and frantically shuffled sideways a bit.

“Uh, we're not,” she began, but the girl was already moving off.

This was the time that she would normally have expected Killian to make some sort of innuendo or flirty comment. Instead he had a very odd look on his face, some sort of dawning... not horror, but almost shock.

“Let's... let's be halfway productive,” Emma spluttered, and slammed her folder on the desk.

The noise roused Killian, and he nodded, taking out his own books from his bag.

And they sat, through the loud music and clinking of snooker balls and screams and shouts from the bowling alley, and did their English homework.

 


	12. Left

 “Where did you guys go last night?” Mary Margaret asked as they sat down in history. “I called your home phone and Astrid said you went out with Ruby?”

“Ah,” Emma nodded. “Yeah, we went to work on the assignment with Victor and Killian.”

“I... see,” Mary Margaret blinked.

Ruby patted her shoulder. “Don't worry about it, they were perfectly gentlemanly. I need to go get a worksheet.” She got up from her seat to go over to the teacher's desk, and Emma leaned in to Mary Margaret.

“She likes Victor,” she whispered.

Mary Margaret shook her head a bit. “She likes every boy at school at least once. It's never serious.”

“This time I think it is,” Emma replied. “He's fine. Actually... halfway decent when you get to know him.”

Mary Margaret stared at her, aghast. “Alright, who are you and what have you done with the real Emma?” she asked. “Just the other week you described him as, may I quote, ' _a total pig_ '!”

“I know, but...” she sighed, shook her head. “I was mistaken. He's fine.”

“And Killian?” Mary Margaret asked. “Is he fine too? I thought you hated him!”

“I may have been mistaken about that too,” Emma replied through gritted teeth. “Regina was just trying to mess with me.”

“Who told you that? Killian?”

“Victor. And Killian.”

“God,” Mary Margaret groaned, dropping her head into her hands. “What has been going _on_ around here?”

“Too much to even begin to explain,” Emma replied with a wry grin as Ruby returned.

“Hey, Killian's not in class,” Ruby commented as she sat down, and Emma twisted around to look at his usual corner of the room. Sure enough, he wasn't there.

“Maybe he's late,” she said. History was the first period of the day.

Ten minutes later, when Mr Jefferson called the roll, he still wasn't there, and Emma found herself growing oddly concerned. She pushed the feeling away and tried to concentrate on her work.

By the end of the lesson he still hadn't shown up, and Emma packed up her stuff and began to walk off to biology. She was barely out of the corridor when she ran into Killian walking the other way.

“Hey!” he said, swerving across the hallway to meet her and nearly causing a traffic jam from the flood of people trying to exit their classrooms. “Where are you going?”

“Bio,” she replied distractedly, “Where were you in history?”

He looked tired, she realised. Which was starting to become alarmingly normal for him, but today more so than usual, eyes slightly red and hair dishevelled in a decidedly non-deliberate way.

“Had to meet with a teacher,” he said, which she figured was code for _Dr Hopper_ , since no one else would take up an entire period of class time.

She shifted her books onto one arm so she could reach out and touch his shoulder. He looked down at her hand, then back at her face questioningly.

“Is everything okay?” she asked. It was frustrating not knowing what was going on, because she had always hated seeing her friends hurt. David and Mary Margaret might be the most obviously overprotective of those they cared about – but she was too, in her own way. She just went about it more quietly.

He looked confused for a second, then oddly touched. “Yeah – everything's fine. Thanks.”

“Alright,” she said, still a bit dubious. “You should get to class then. See you in English.”

“Ta.”

Her hand felt oddly cold when she pulled it away, and she had to fight the urge not to look back over her shoulder when she walked off, hoping that whatever was up with him would get sorted out quickly.

 

* * *

 

Except then Emma had to go to the convenience store at a thoroughly ungodly hour.

Not that she minded. Leroy had a night shift this Friday evening, and since his birthday was coming up she and Astrid had endeavoured to make a cheesecake. And then over-whipped the cream to the point that it curdled, and then the shop across the road was shut so they had to drive out to the convenience store to get more. And perhaps it was a little odd to have been making a cheesecake at almost midnight, but it had been a spur of the moment decision and it was... fun.

For all that she had been living with them for going on five years now, Emma was still in the process of bonding with her adoptive parents. And the time she spent just hanging around at home with them, doing things like this – it made her happy in a way that nothing else really came close to.

So there she was, at 12:10 in the morning, laughing as she got out of the car leaving Astrid waiting at the wheel and illegally double parked as she jogged into the twenty-four hour store.

Only to freeze in surprise because was that _Killian_ behind the counter?

He looked just as surprised to see her, and there was a moment where they both stood gaping at each other like stunned mullets. Fortunately there was no one else in the shop.

Emma broke the silence first, striding up to the counter. “Um, hey.”

“Hey,” he replied. “Are you... buying something?”

“Yeah,” she said distractedly. “You work here?”

“Evidently,” he replied, gesturing his hand at the counter in front of him.

“...it's past midnight.”

“Yes. And you are shopping,” he said with a grin, “What's the emergency?”

Except no, she wasn't about to let him distract her with jokes this time.

“Dude! Seriously? Is this why you're falling asleep in class all the time? You're working night-shifts here?”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “I'm fine, Emma. The bus is for sleeping on, anyway.”

“Uh, no, the bus is for riding on. _Beds_ are for sleeping on. _Night time_ is for sleeping in, God, Killian, what's going on? Is everything okay, why do you need to work so desperately?”

Perhaps it was the naked concern in her voice that made his grin falter a bit. For a moment an odd expression flickered across his face, a mix of shame and anger and almost fear.

“Everything's fine,” he said then. “My dad's out of town for a bit and forgot to leave enough money. But it's completely fine, trust me, he'll be back next month. Actually, it's the 30th today, isn't it... next week, even. I'm just making sure he doesn't return to find that the landlord has kicked us out for not meeting rent.” Another grin, but this time transparent as all hell, and Emma frowned.

“You've been working two jobs to try and support yourself because your dad didn't leave you with enough money,” she said slowly, and he grimaced.

“It sounds terrible when you put it that way,” he began, and Emma cut in. He was lying, and by this point she knew him well enough that she could see right through them.

“No. Cut the crap. Seriously, stop lying to me. Did I ever tell you that I know when people are lying? It's my magic power. What's going on? What's _really_ going on? Maybe I can help.”

He stared at her for a long moment. Then he sighed, and looked away, and ran his hand over his face.

“Okay. Okay. Highly doubt that you can help, but... why don't you come over tomorrow?”

“What, to your place?"

“Yeah. If you want.”

“Okay...” she glanced around, momentarily wondering what was wrong with discussing it here and now, until she realised, right. He was technically on the job. In a public convenience store. In the middle of the night.

“I'll text you the address.” His voice had gone quiet, and Emma just nodded, everything draining away to leave a cold, vaguely worried feeling in the pit of her stomach.

The bell at the door tinkled loudly, making them both jump, and Emma spun around to see Astrid entering.

“Emma!” she called out. “What's taking you so long?”

“I got distracted,” she replied, ushering the other woman over. “Killian, this is Astrid. Astrid, Killian. He did actually visit the house one time, but he left before you came back.”

“Hello,” Astrid said, and offered him her hand. She did cast Emma a curious look, because, okay, she may or may not have gone on a few rants throughout the years describing the various members of Regina's group in vivid detail. Killian had featured prominently. And while Emma had mentioned her frustration about being stuck with him for the assignment, she had forgotten to bring it up again when things became... slightly less unbearable.

“Hi,” Killian replied, mustering a tired but charming smile. “It's a pleasure to finally meet you.”

“Likewise,” Astrid said, in such a dubious tone that Killian glanced at Emma, realised what was going on and broke into a genuine and rather wicked grin at the thought of how she must have complained to her parents about him previously. Emma just stuck her tongue out at him as she went to get what they needed to buy.

“He's working there very late!” Astrid commented as they left the store.

Emma hesitated a moment – she rarely confided her _own_ personal business in her parents, let alone someone else's. “I don't think his family is that well-off,” she said finally. “He's dropped a few hints about it.”

“Oh,” Astrid replied. “Is he on a scholarship of some sort then?”

“Maybe? He seems to not want to fail any classes, so.”

A quiet moment broken only by the ticking of the indicator as they waited at a red light.

“He seemed rather friendly,” Astrid said, and gave Emma a knowing smile before bursting into a fit of giggles so intense that she almost missed the light turning green.

Emma felt her face growing warm and pressed her cheek against the cool glass of the car window. “Oh stop,” she grumbled, “You're worse than Ruby!”

She couldn't help the nervous dread that remained with her for the rest of the night, though. It was more uncertainty than anything else, uncertainty about what exactly _was_ going on with Killian – but also where his telling her would leave them.

 

* * *

 

The address he had given her was for a block of flats in a small, quiet suburb about twenty minutes' drive from school. She bussed there after netball practice, got lost twice in the communal parking lot because all the apartment buildings looked the same, and finally made her way up to what she _hoped_ was the right door.

It indeed was; when she knocked Killian opened it right away, as though he had been waiting for her.

“I saw you in the car park out the window,” he explained quickly.

“You saw me wandering around like a fool then,” she replied drily, which brought a smile to his face. He ushered her inside, and she had the usual five-second dither about whether she was meant to take her shoes off before eventually deciding not to.

He snorted loudly. “Nothing could make you look a fool, fair lady, but next time just remember I live in the building with the guy who always hangs his undies out on the balcony. Too classy.”

_Next time_? she thought, but laughed.

The flat was small but not cramped – more economical in its space than anything else. It was neat in a way that spoke less of frequent cleaning and more of not being lived in enough to get messy. There were a few signs of Killian lying around – school blazer flung over the back of a chair, maths textbook and calculator strewn on the table – but not really of anyone else.

“Want some water?” Killian asked, waving for her to sit down on the small couch.

“Sure, thanks,” she replied automatically.

She looked around for any photographs and found only one on the coffee table; two little boys who had to be about 6 and 12 years old, grinning on a wharf. She thought the younger one was Killian, but was hard pressed to tell. They looked quite alike.

He returned with a glass of water in hand and a book tucked under his arm. She took both curiously; it was a thin paperback with a grey cover. Sylvia Plath's _Ariel_.

“Oh right,” she said, “I remember you mentioning I should read this! I haven't been to the bookstore lately.”

“You can have that one,” he said.

She paused awkwardly, unsure if that meant he was lending it or it was a gift. He noticed her hesitation and grinned.

“You can _keep_ that one,” he amended.

“Are you sure?” It looked pretty well-loved.

“Yeah,” he waved a hand. “Plath's for girls anyway. I don't mean that in a mean way – I mean she was writing for you. I can read it, I can look in, but you're the ones it's essentially for.”

“Thank you,” she said, tucking it in her bag.

For a moment they just sat there, a long ray of sunlight spilling in through the blinds across the room and cutting a line through the couch between them.

“So,” Killian said finally, and waved his hand around. “Notice the distinct lack of parental supervision.”

“Right. Yeah,” she replied, sitting forward. “So what's he out of town for-”

“He's not coming back,” Killian broke in, abruptly, and she paused.

“...what?”

“He's not coming back,” Killian said again. He was staring at the picture on the coffee table. “I know I told you he'd be back next month, but... I'm pretty sure he's left for good.”

Emma had no idea what to say. Finally she settled on: “What happened?”

He let out a long stream of breath.

“So he worked in IT. And we moved here for his work. And then he lost his job maybe a year and a half ago, and couldn't get another one, and he had always been a bit into gambling back in England and then here it became a full time thing. And he was winning a lot, at first, but then things got kind of shady and I think perhaps he was not playing entirely honestly, to put it mildly.”

Emma listened in silence.

She was abruptly reminded of the time he had come to her house, and then she had been the one to talk, to let him in. Now it was her turn to begin to understand.

“Anyway. Last month he goes out one night and when I woke up in the morning all his stuff was gone. And then the next day some guys come around and ask where he is, and when I said he wasn't here they started muttering about how he'd ' _given them the split_ '.”

“They came around _asking you where he was_?” Emma asked, aghast. It was one thing for his dad to be involved in some sort of dodgy gambling business, another entirely for his teenage son to get pulled into things.

Killian gave a tight smile. “It was... not fun. Pulled the sofa in front of the door that night. So... he hasn't come back since then. Didn't call or anything. It's not the first time he's left for a few days, but it's the longest he's been gone. I don't want to go to the police in case he does eventually return, so I don't want him to get in trouble.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Thus, here I am!”

She wasn't quite sure how she was meant to respond to that. Her first thought was naturally _well, shit_ , because this was not at all what she had expected.

“But it's fine!” He added quickly, seeing the rather shocked and vaguely distressed look on her face. “The next-month thing wasn't totally a lie. My brother should be back by then.”

“Brother?” She looked at the picture on the coffee table and he gave his first genuine smile of the day.

“Liam. He's in the British army. Meant to be back in June. Hopefully. At least I think he's returning here, not back to England. Either way, he should be back soon, so I'm keeping calm and carrying on till then.”

“Dude!” Emma exclaimed, because that was one of the most dubious, hanging-by-a-straw plans she had ever heard. “That's... you're what, sixteen, seventeen? You can't live here on your _own_ -”

Except then, she realised, that was practically what _she_ had done, for so many years – minus the money problems, of course. Because sure, she had been in foster families – but essentially she had been fending for herself. Dealt with her problems by herself.

“You can't go telling people,” he informed her stiffly. “Even Victor doesn't know. If you tell your parents or a teacher or anything – I don't know, social services will get involved and I'll be sent back to England to live with some unknown distant relation.”

She nodded, slowly. Having spent more than enough time in the foster system herself, she knew it could be messy.

“I won't,” she said firmly. “But I can help. If you need money-”

“Whoah, no, no charity.” He laughed, but he looked quite serious. “I'm fine, really, Emma. I appreciate the concern. But I've got enough for rent this month, and I do most electricity and water stuff out of the flat. Believe it or not I am capable of taking care of myself.”

“Okay,” she said. “What about school fees?”

“Ah. The fun, fun business of school.” Another lopsided grin. “I'm surprised you don't know already, they make me give a speech about it every Open Day.”

“I haven't been to Open Day since you got here,” she said curiously.

“Right. Well, then you will be interested to hear that I am the school charity case.”

“The what?”

“They get extra funding from the government if they take on a student from a lower income bracket, in this case yours truly. The only requirement is that I not fail any classes.” He pulled a face. “Cut it a bit close with that maths topic test last week. I am very, very glad that Mr Gold only has us for maths. Only objective subject otherwise I'm sure he'd fail me every time.”

“Surely he wouldn't take it that far,” Emma said.

Killian shrugged.

“Anyway,” he said.

“Anyway,” Emma echoed.

There was a moment of silence. A cloud passed over the sun and the stream of light coming through the window faded and dulled, leaving the flat seeming suddenly very cold and very lonely.

“Do you miss him?” Emma said, abruptly. She wasn't quite sure what made her ask, maybe because she had always been sent away from her foster homes, not the other way around, and she never missed any of them. She had always been too angry. If Leroy and Astrid packed up one day and left without saying a word, she thought she might be angry with them too, but she would still feel their absence.

Killian paused. “I... don't know. I'm angry about it,” and yes, there it was, same as her. “But at the same time... I suppose I don't miss _him_ as much as I miss his... well, paying for stuff.” A curt laugh. “That sounds absolutely terrible but he was never really _there_ even when he was there. He was always going out drinking or playing cards, even when we were back in England. Didn't care a jot about what was going on at school or whatever, never came to football games. He was more like a random person we lived with than an actual father. I guess Mum was the one who wanted kids and once she died he was just stuck with them.”

Emma bit her lip.

“There was a kid at one of the foster families I went to – he was only tiny, maybe six or so, and the parents just completely ignored him,” she said. “And he was a little monster. It wasn't his fault, you could tell it was just – the complete lack of care, of discipline. I was only with them for a few weeks but I tried to sort of pay attention to him while I was there, at least make him feel like _someone_ saw him. But I always just thought, why bother? Why have kids if you're just gonna pretend they're invisible? And I don't know why my – my real parents gave me up, but I suppose I'm glad that if it _was_ because they genuinely didn't want me, that they didn't insist on keeping me anyway. At least I ended up finding Astrid and Leroy-” and stopped there because it seemed a bit insensitive to be talking about her caring adoptive family when they were sat in a flat he was living in alone because his own parent ditched him.

He smiled, though. “I was a terrible little monster too, believe it or not.”

“Oh, I can believe it,” she teased, and he scoffed.

“Really, though. I had Liam to keep me in line but once he left home? Completely out of control. I hung out with some right loons- oh, don't give me that look.”

“What look?” she asked innocently, and he rolled his eyes.

“That ' _you still do'_ look. Regina's got nothing on the crowd I was with back home.”

“So what changed to make you so self-reflective?”

He looked grim, suddenly. “Right after we moved here I started at Queenhart and was fully prepared to be the biggest shit possible. And then we got a call that Liam had been injured and it ended up being nothing serious, but Dad didn't care and... Liam was all I _had_. So I freaked out. And that was when Milah-”

And there he broke off, like he had said too much.

“Milah,” Emma prompted gently. There was an odd churning in the pit of her stomach, like she somehow knew things were all about to come together. “The old guidance counsellor, right?”

But Killian shook his head, slapped his hand down on his knee abruptly.

“Doesn't matter,” he said. “Point is, no, I don't really _miss him_ miss him. It's like he left in spirit ages ago.”

“I'm sorry,” she said. It seemed appropriate, and he looked her in the eye for the first time that conversation, an oddly intense sort of look.

“If you were anybody else,” he said, “I would probably be annoyed by that phrase.”

She knew that. She'd said it anyway, and it seemed she'd guessed right.

“I know people _mean_ well,” he continued, and it was like he was echoing everything she had thought herself after she had told Neal for the first time. Mary Margaret. Even David and Ruby. “But how can you be _truly_ sorry for something you know nothing about? I think the level of sympathy you're able to feel is directly proportionate to how much you are able to genuinely empathise. You can be sorry someone had to feel that way but unless you know exactly _what_ it feels like, sorry comes across like blind pity. Not you, though. You....”

He was still looking at her. It seemed tactless to turn her gaze away. She thought he was going to say something more, but he didn't. They sat there, and looked at each other, and after a few moments Emma felt an odd connection. It was as though they were somehow sharing in all of the identical, terrible, dark heavy feelings they had experienced over the years. Abandonment, whether literal or emotional. Being invisible, unwanted. Either acting out or keeping it in, both little more than _coping_ mechanisms. Like all these things were floating out of them and settling on their combined shoulders, and they were sharing the weight together.

The sun finally emerged from behind its cloud, brightening the room again, and Emma stirred.

“Victor fancies Ruby,” Killian said abruptly. “He's stopped hitting on girls as much.”

“He was telling us about your dry streak lately,” Emma replied, and promptly thought _why on earth did I bring that up, that's hella awkward._

Killian just laughed. “Yeah. Guess I got... bored.”

“Bored. Right.” Her tone was perhaps a little more disapproving than intended, because Killian turned to her, shifting so his whole body was facing her on the couch.

“Ruby makes Victor want to be a better person,” he said, and there was something oddly familiar about the words, until suddenly she realised it was a mirror of what she'd told him about Astrid and Leroy, and how much she admired their relationship.

“Is that so?”

“Yeah,” he replied, and was still looking at her with that almost-shy, almost-smile. “He's not the only one.”

She remained silent.

“Perhaps you make me want to be a better person as well,” he continued, and smiled properly this time.

Emma was floored.

She supposed she had known for a... well, for a while that Killian possibly liked her. She had thought at first it was just his usual flirtations. But then it had changed, and perhaps she had been refusing to acknowledge it for some time now, but this...

Her heart was suddenly beating too fast, her palms growing sweaty, and Killian was still watching her and waiting for her to say something, his eyes boring into hers and very very blue and for once she didn't know what he was thinking-

“I have to go,” she blurted out, and Killian jumped a bit. He scooted away from her, back across the line of sunlight.

“Right. Of course,” he said, sounding a bit awkward. God, _she_ felt awkward, but she couldn't – not right now, she couldn't-

He got up, picked up her bag and handed it to her, and she took it quietly and made for the door.

“...goodbye,” she said finally, and he smiled.

“Thanks,” he said. “For... listening.”

“No worries.” And she felt like she ought to do something, so she reached out and pressed his arm before leaving. She didn't look back, but didn't hear the door close until she was halfway down the stairs, and when she walked out into the warmth and sunlight of the parking lot, her heart was still pounding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! A bit sitty-around talk-y this chapter. Aya. Anyway, hope you enjoyed it, and comments/crit are as always greatly appreciated :)
> 
> I'm travelling tomorrow so updates may be sporadic for a bit.


	13. Fix

Emma spent the rest of Saturday night kicking herself.

 _Why_ had she left so _awkwardly_? And God, he probably thought she was completely insensitive now. He'd shared his tragic life story with her and all she had done was say she was sorry and squeeze his arm! She should at least have, she didn't know, patted him on the back or something. Maybe gone for a hug.

After angsting over it all through dinner, which quite ruined her appetite, she decided that she was more than likely getting worked up over nothing. If Killian knew her as well as he seemed to, he'd have been able to tell that she understood. And sympathised. And wished him well.

Just in case, she sent him a text saying ' _Hope everything's alright ºOº <\- virtual teddy bear' _

The reply, ' _S'fine, thanks x'_ did not help matters.

Was 'x' meant to be a hug or a kiss? Did it mean something? Ruby signed all her texts off with 'x', but that was a girl thing. Maybe Killian had mistakenly thought that 'x' was a hug when Emma was pretty sure it was commonly accepted as a kiss-

And okay, perhaps she wasn't as worried about how _Killian_ felt about her, as she was about how _she_ might feel about _him_. If he did make some sort of move – a real move, not a gentle, subtle hint like he had been doing – she wasn't sure what she'd do.

She liked him well enough as a friend, but as more than that? Disregarding the fact that Neal had made her wary, and she didn't know if a relationship was exactly what she needed right now – did she _like_ Killian? Did she even know him well enough to begin to work that out?

She hoped she would at least have until Monday to decide how to act around him, but as it was, Regina thwarted those plans.

It was late, and Emma had gotten into bed fully prepared to go to sleep, when her phone buzzed with a text. Most of her friends were polite enough to not message late at night unless it was super important, so thinking it was an emergency – or Killian – she groggily sat up, switched the light on, and checked her mobile.

It turned out to be an emergency.

' _Guys, need urgent help, can you come on skype?'_ It was David, and Emma instantly scrambled out of bed to grab her laptop.

Moments later she was in a group call with Mary Margaret and David, the latter looking more annoyed and worried than she had ever seen him. Ruby was absent, presumably not having heard her phone.

“What's up?” Emma asked, concerned.

“Okay. So.” David ran a hand through his hair and let out a long, slow breath. “You know how my USB went missing last week and then we found it in lost property a day later?”

“Yeah,” Mary Margaret said. “You said you must have dropped it?”

“Right,” David replied. “Except now I think one of Regina's group must have stolen it and given it to her, because you know that legal studies assignment I have that's due next week? I finished it tonight and put it through Turnitin and basically everything that I had written has been posted on some other websites.”

“What?” Emma asked, aghast.

Queenhart Grammar was anal about plagiarism – especially in the higher years – and to be caught doing it was a serious offence. Everyone was meant to submit all hand-in assignments to the Turnitin website before giving them in to their teachers, in order for them to be scanned against the network database to check what percentage of the work had been taken from online websites.

“Yeah,” David said. “It showed up as 98% copied. I went to the websites and every piece of my information was on there. But Regina was smart – she didn't copy-paste the assignment exactly, she changed bits of it, added things here and there to make it look like a legitimate source that I then copied.”

“But- surely she can't _get away_ with that,” Mary Margaret cried. “I mean, wouldn't it be obvious that the websites were created way after you were given the assignment?”

“The creation dates are from last year! I don't know how she did it.” He dropped his head in his hands. “This thing is due on _Tuesday_! I can't redo it all. I can't prove that _she_ did it.”

“Ohh.” Mary Margaret reached out to her webcam, realised she couldn't touch her boyfriend to comfort him, and wrapped her arms around herself instead. The look on her face filled Emma with rage; it was hurt and anger and helplessness all at once. It was hard for them to ever prove to the teachers that Regina was responsible for all the times that Mary Margaret's group got into trouble. The fact that Cora was principal did not help matters.

“Dude. We're not letting her get away with this,” Emma said firmly. “We'll fix it.”

“How?” David asked. “I'm telling you, these websites are _solid_. There's maybe three of them, and they've got source links and additional pages and everything.”

“Don't give up,” Mary Margaret said.

“I'm not,” he replied, “I just don't know _what_ to do! We need to get them taken down somehow, but I have zero idea about that sort of thing.”

Emma chewed her lip. After a long moment's hesitation, gauging her friends' receptiveness to what she was about to suggest, she said: “Maybe Killian can help.”

David's eyes narrowed instantly, and Mary Margaret looked away from the camera.

“He was probably the one who stole the USB,” David said stiffly. “He's in my class.”

“So's Victor,” Emma replied. “So's Sidney. Look, I think – I think if _I_ ask him to help, he'll help. He might know how Regina did it, or be able to convince her to take it down. It's worth a shot.”

“Emma,” Mary Margaret said softly, “I really don't know.”

“It can't hurt to ask him,” Emma said. “Besides, what's he going to do? He can hardly make the situation worse.”

Mary Margaret still looked worried, and proceeded to have some sort of silent exchange with David. This simultaneously impressed and irritated Emma, the way they were able to somehow exclude her despite the fact that they were all staring at each other through the one camera view.

“Alright,” David said finally. “You can ask him. I guess it won't hurt.”

“Right,” Emma replied. “I'll get back to you.”

“Try not to stress,” Mary Margaret told him. “We'll sort it, okay?”

“Okay,” David replied. Mary Margaret blew him a kiss and then closed her video stream and sent about ten heart emoticons to their shared chat conversation. Emma rolled her eyes, bid him good night and sent a thumbs up emote.

She closed her laptop and took a few deep breaths.

Then she called Killian.

His phone rang for such a long time that she wondered if he was out at work. When he finally answered, however, his voice was heavy with sleep, and she felt a bit bad for waking him up – he probably needed all the rest he could get.

“Emma?” He sounded rather concerned. “What's wrong? Why are you calling so late?”

“Sorry,” she replied. “I forgot it was past midnight. I need help with something; it's important.”

A pause, then a much more alert sounding: “What is it?”

She briefly explained the situation, and Killian was silent for a few moments.

“...yeah,” he said finally. “That was Regina.”

“Can you help?”

“I...” a sigh. “Yeah, I can help. I'll need his laptop, or at least his Turnitin password and the assignment.”

“We can go over to his house tomorrow,” Emma said. “I'll text you the address.”

“You'll be there?” he asked, and Emma nodded before realising he couldn't see her.

“Yes,” she said. “That okay?”

“That's good. See you then. I'll be over in the afternoon, maybe two or three.”

“Sounds good.” There was an odd pause, neither of them hanging up. Emma realised vaguely that it was the first time they had talked together over the phone. There was something strange in picturing him sitting alone in his empty flat, linked to her through the darkness by the phone line.

“Goodnight, then,” he said finally. His voice sounded so close in her ear she could almost feel his breath, the way he had spoken nearly against her skin the night of the party, out in Regina's moonlit garden.

“Goodnight,” she replied, and hung up first.

 

* * *

 

 

Emma arrived at David's house to find him alternating between pacing a hole in the floor and typing at his computer so vigorously that she near feared the keyboard would break.

“Hey,” she said, rapping gently at the door to his room. “Your mum let me in. How's it going?”

“I'm trying-” vigorous keyboard-smashing “to redo-” furious backspacing followed by a long stream of typing “-my assignment!” With a flourish he hit the enter key and began a new paragraph, only to pause, lean back in his chair and run his hands over his face.

“Oh. David.” She moved further into the room, reached out and squeezed his shoulder. He gave her a small smile before sighing and turning back to the computer.

“I'm first in the class,” he muttered. “If I fail this one, Sidney will take my place.”

It was a point of pride for David to get an award each year. He seemed to think he needed to compensate for the failings of James, who spent the vast majority of his time skipping school, partying, and working part-time jobs in dodgy places on the other side of the country.

“We'll sort it,” Emma reassured him. “Killian's on his way over here.”

David pressed his lips together, still looking dubious, and Emma sighed. She hoped Killian would at least try not to rile David up too much while he was here.

There came a distant knock from the front door, and Emma looked up.

“Speak of the devil."

Killian entered the room moments later. To Emma's relief, he seemed entirely unfazed by her hurried exit the day before. He made no mention of it, just said “Hello Emma,” with a nod and a wave.

“Hi,” she said. “Thanks for coming over, I know you were probably busy.”

He flapped a hand. “Nah. Always room on my schedule for swooping in and saving the day.” He turned to David, who had been watching in silence. “Emma explained the problem to me. I've asked a friend of mine who's good with computers if he can help out. I just need to send all the relevant information to him.”

Emma wondered if this was the same 'friend' who was going to break into Mr Gold's phone for him. She didn't say anything, however, just watched as David rolled his swivel chair aside and pulled up a chair for Killian. She herself moved to sit on the bed and watch them.

“Where are the links?” Killian asked, and David elbowed him out of the way as he took control of the mouse again.

“I'll get them for you. Don't look at my assignment.”

“For God's sake, I'm not going to copy it! I've already finished my own.”

“How am I meant to believe that when your best friend has just _sabotaged_ me?” he growled.

Killian rolled his eyes. “Okay. One, Regina is not my best friend, and two, I had nothing to do with this.”

“Like I'm supposed to believe that. You're in my class.”

“This was Sidney's doing, not mine.” He snorted. “I personally believe that there's no point in getting an award for a subject if you didn't get it honestly. Bad form and all that.”

Emma leaned forward. “How did Regina even make these websites? The creation dates are from ages ago.”

Killian glanced over his shoulder at her with a wry smile. “You would be surprised by the sheer amount of planning that goes into Regina's plots against you. It's rather impressive, actually. She's had these saved up for a special occasion. In fact, I believe this may be revenge for that little stunt you pulled with her apple tree.”

“Oh! Right.” Emma had almost forgotten about that. “How did she react?”

“She was _livid,_ ” Killian replied, “And she was not very happy with me for letting you do it. She broke every single lead in my mechanical pencils.”

Emma winced.

“In any case, it seems she's now getting back at you through David,” Killian said.

David snorted loudly. “Here are your links.”

Emma couldn't see much of the computer screen from where she was sitting, but she gathered Killian was emailing or forwarding them to someone.

“So who's your mysterious friend?” she asked.

He glanced at her again. “Someone I met back in England,” he replied, slowly. Not a lie, but not the whole truth either. She remembered what he'd told her the day before – _Regina's got nothing on the crowd I was with back home... some right loons_. “He owes me a few favours. And hopefully is still awake; time zone difference and all that.”

“So what do we do now?” David asked.

Killian leaned back in his chair. “Now? We wait. He might need us to do something on this end. You should keep working on your backup assignment just in case. I take it you've started redoing it.”

David nodded, looking unimpressed. “How helpful.”

“Hey, I'm doing all I can here!” Killian said, a tinge of irritation in his tone. “If you want I can give you the leftover research from my assignment.”

“No, thank you, I don't need to scrounge for your _leftovers_.”

“You're an ungrateful git, you know that?”

“And you are a jerk who enjoys making other peoples' lives a misery!”

“Break it up, guys,” Emma called from the bed. To her relief, they looked away from each other, presumably sulking.

After a second Killian turned, dug in his pocket and then chucked a USB at David. It bounced off his head and landed in his lap.

“In case you change your mind,” Killian sneered. “There's a ton of sources I didn't use there.”

David glared at him and slammed the USB on the desk in front of him, then resumed his violent typing.

Killian glanced over at Emma and pulled a face. She pulled a face back at him, then he pointed at David and mouthed what looked like ' _mighty aggressive_ ', or something along those lines.

' _I'm staying out of this_ ,' she mouthed back.

“Pretty sure the Supreme Court is the last court of appeal,” Killian piped up after a minute.

“Shut up, I'm working,” was David's response. “Stop reading over my shoulder.”

“Just trying to help.”

“Killian,” Emma said warningly.

“Sorry, love.” The grin he shot her was genuinely apologetic, which had David snapping his head around and glancing between them. He looked confused, then irritated.

“You could have warned us if you knew Regina was planning this,” he said. “What's the point of letting her go through with it and then wasting your time undoing it?”

“There are many things you don't know, mate,” was Killian's reply. “The order of appellate courts not being the least of them.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” Killian said slowly, “That our group isn't one hive-mind of diabolical schemes whose sole purpose in life is to ruin yours. Furthermore, you don't have the whole story, do you?”

David frowned. “The whole story of _what_?”

“The story of why wicked old Regina hates dear Saint Mary Margaret so much.”

“Watch your tone,” David snapped, but more defensively than anything else. On the bed, Emma sat up, wondering where this was heading.

Killian just shrugged. “It's true though, isn't it?” He fixed David with a measuring look, and the other boy held his gaze for a moment before looking away.

It was true; David didn't know what the source of the conflict between the two girls was. Nor did Emma. They had spoken about it, a few times, but neither had risked pushing it with Mary Margaret.

“Tell me, then,” David said. “If you know so much.”

“Not my story to tell,” Killian replied instantly. “And here I thought you and your girlfriend shared everything with each other! Perhaps paradise is not so untroubled as it seems.”

David took a deep breath in his nose, and released it slowly. Emma admired his efforts not to get angry. Before anything further could happen, Killian's phone rang. He glanced at it then hopped up from his seat.

“Gotta take this,” he informed them, and left the room.

David shook his head. “He is a complete tool. How do you _like_ him?”

“I never said I liked him,” Emma began, but David just shot her a raised eyebrow.

She sighed. “I know he riles you up, but... he doesn't try to _hurt_ people, not the way Regina does. Not unless they've done something to him first. And he's... got stuff going on at home.”

“Stuff?” David asked. Before she could say anything else, Killian reentered the room.

“Everything alright?” Emma asked as he sat down again.

“S'fine. Landlord. Just sorting something out.” He shot her a reassuring smile. “Now, where were we? Still chatting about Regina?”

“No matter what happened between her and Mary Margaret,” David informed him coldly, “She's more than made up for it over the last five years.”

“Imagine,” was Killian's reply, “Having Cora Mills as a mother.”

That struck them both into silence for a moment. Emma had to admit that from what she had seen, Cora and Regina didn't seem particularly close.

“Still not an excuse,” David said quietly. “A bully is a bully no matter what's happened to them. Shitty things have happened with my parents, God knows Emma's been through worse. We don't go around taking it out on everybody else.”

Killian looked at him, then at Emma, and gave a measuring shrug. At that moment, the computer pinged with an email alert, and both boys turned back to the screen. It seemed Killian's friend had responded.

There was a lot of typing and muttering going on that Emma was not particularly interested in. Sitting back against the bed, she dug around in her bag for her phone, intending to play a game, when her fingers closed around a book instead. Pulling it out, she realised it was the copy of _Ariel_ that Killian had given her yesterday.

Deciding she might as well read it now, she opened it to the first page, then hesitated. She didn't read poetry much – hardly ever, outside of what they studied at school – and was mildly concerned that she might not understand it.

Shrugging, she decided to just read, and see where it took her.

The first poem was called _Morning Song_. Her initial read-through made her pause. Her second made her frown.

 _I'm no more your mother than the cloud that distils a mirror to reflect its own slow effacement at the wind's hand_.

Although written from the perspective of the mother, the sense of separation – the disconnect between mother and child – the complete feeling of isolation, of reaching out but being unable to feel anything-

It stirred something in her. It was how she had felt each time she looked at her myriad of foster parents until Astrid, or on the rare occasions she let herself think about her real mother, the one who had given her up.

 _A far sea moves in my ear_.

She glanced up at Killian, but his back was to her, still doing something at the computer. Looking back at the book, she bit her lip. And hadn't she felt like that, a thousand times before, like she was nothing but a distant background noise that people heard but never _listened_ to, never really understood.

The poetry was flat and empty, and made her feel a little flat and empty to read, but like Hamlet on that hot dry day when she'd sat with Killian outside the detention room – it was _cathartic_ , in its own way.

“-send that to him,” Killian's voice bled back through to her consciousness. “Hang on, you've got another email.”

“I'll read it lat-oh.”

Emma looked up again. David was leaning forward, close to the screen, intently reading whatever he'd just received. Killian had sat back a bit, shoulders stiff with the awkwardness that comes with witnessing something personal happening to someone who you don't know that well.

“Everything okay?” he asked after a minute.

“Yeah, it's fine,” David replied quickly. “My brother's coming to visit.”

“Didn't know you had a brother.”

“A twin. He lives with my father. Our parents split up when we were younger-” David broke off, as though surprised that he'd revealed so much.

“Do you see him often?”

Perhaps it was the genuine interest in Killian's tone that prompted David to reply.

“No, not really. He's not the visiting sort.”

“That must suck, his being your twin and all.”

“Not really. He's an asshole.” She saw him glance at Killian and give a wry smile. “We're like oil and water. You'd probably like him.”

“Well, now you've just got me intrigued.”

“My dad – who coincidentally, is also an asshole! – lets him run wild. He's a total bludger who spends more money than he's got and then comes to mum or dad to borrow the difference. I don't like the sound of this Jack girl he's running around with either.” He sighed, ran a hand over his face. “Now and then he'll drop by to leech off my mum, mess with my grades and friends and generally cause havoc.”

Killian grimaced. “Sounds like a right lout.”

“Right lout is an understatement,” David muttered. “I guess I can't help but wonder if that's what I'd be like if he'd stayed with my mum and I'd gone with my dad.”

“Nature vs nurture and all that?”

“Exactly.”

Killian was quiet a moment. Then he said, “Friends shape you too, not just family. My brother and I were both raised by the same father. He hung out with the right crowd, I didn't. Voila, look how we turned out. You'd probably like him too.”

“I didn't know you had a brother,” David said. Emma found it a bit amusing how surprised he sounded, like he hadn't really thought any of Regina's group existed outside of what they saw of them at school. She supposed she had been the same too, at first.

Killian shrugged. “He's much older.”

“Does he live here?”

“Nah, he's in the army. Always harping at me to control myself. God knows someone has to.”

  
“To hell with bad dads, right?”

“You can bloody say that again.” Killian's phone buzzed, and he straightened up a bit. “Aaand – it looks like he's done. Stick that through Turnitin again and see if it's all fixed.”

They turned back to the screen. As Emma watched, David snuck a speculative glance at Killian, as though reconsidering him in light of this new information. A few moments later, once David had looked away, Killian did the same thing. She couldn't help but smile, amused and pleased at the same time. From what she had heard, David's father was a total jerk – at least the two boys now had _something_ to bond over.

“Yes,” David said, a grin in his voice. “6%! Looks like I don't have to rewrite it after all.”

Killian nodded. He was smiling. “Great. I'll let him know.”

“Say thanks for me, will you?”

“Oh, don't thank him,” Killian replied with a grimace. “He only did it 'cause he owed me a favour. Let's hope I don't need something urgent later on down the line.”

David's brows furrowed. Emma herself was a little surprised. She didn't know the full details of this mysterious 'friend', but he certainly seemed capable of some pretty complex computer things. Which made a favour from him worth a substantial amount.

“Why'd you help?” David asked in a low voice. Neither boy was looking at her, which she found a little bit rude.

“Lucky for you,” Killian replied. “I like Emma, and I don't _hate_ you as intensely as that time you tripped me up in football probably warrants.”

“I didn't trip you up.”

“Right, your foot materialised out of nowhere!” Killian said, but there was a teasing note in his voice.

Emma smiled as she turned back to her book. It had been a bit stressful having Killian and her friendship group so at odds with each other. At least Ruby liked him, and now it seemed he was getting along better with David. Win Mary Margaret over and maybe they could all start hanging out.

She looked through Plath again.

_People or stars regard me sadly, I disappoint them-_

_Love is a shadow, how you lie and cry after it-_

_I could hardly speak-_

_I am too pure for you or anyone-_

It was like a whirlwind of her thoughts and resentments, her fullness and emptiness from childhood, during Neal, post-Neal. It was one thing for someone to say that you should read something, that it reminded them of you, another entirely for that something to fit so _well_.

Some poems were desolate, others ended with anger and rising and _overcoming_. All of them, despite their being confessional poetry and fairly contextual, were exactly what she needed to read, what she would have welcomed in her darker moments throughout the years, putting into words everything she had felt, making her feel less alone.

“Emma?” Killian's voice said, and she looked up, jumping slightly as she found him standing right over her. He looked a little amused. “I'm going now.”

“Oh!” She sat up. “Right, sorry. Bye.”

He grinned as he noticed her reading material. “How is it?”

“It's...” _Perfect_. “Relatable.”

“That's good to hear.” He hesitated for a moment and Emma wondered if she ought to say something. Then he just shrugged, and hefted his bag onto his shoulder. “See you tomorrow then. We should finish up the collage and sort out the speech soon.”

“Oh, yes.” The assignment was due on Wednesday. “There's not too much more to do.”

He nodded. There was another awkward pause where they both stared at each other. It still felt like something else should be said. Finally Emma got up off the bed and stood in front of him.

“Thank you,” she said quietly. “For helping David. I appreciate it.”

“I didn't do it for him,” he replied, staring right into her eyes.

She bit her lip, but before she could say anything he'd turned, waved to David and walked out of the room.

“That was...” David began, and Emma turned to him. He was looking at her with raised eyebrows.

“Not as bad of an idea as I thought,” he continued. “He was... surprisingly helpful.”

She grinned. “Just admit it, he grew on you.”

David snorted. “Mould can grow on something, that doesn't mean it's good.”

Emma contemplated this for a moment before announcing, “...that was a really bad analogy.”

David shook his head. He was smiling, but after a moment it faded. “He... really likes you,” he said, sounding concerned more than anything else. “You didn't see it because you were reading, but he kept glancing over at you. You know he likes you, right?”

“Right,” Emma replied, forcing a smile. She did know, but it was... unsettling to hear it said out loud. To know that it was starting to become glaringly obvious to other people. This was going to come to a head, and soon.

David pulled a face. “Do you....?”

She knew what he was asking, in his own awkward way, but didn't really want to answer.

“I don't know,” she replied.

David eyed her a moment longer before nodding and turning away. Emma bit her lip. She looked back down at _Ariel,_ lying on the bed, and allowed herself a small, secret smile.

 


	14. Break

 Emma left school on Monday afternoon to find Neal waiting for her.

She almost didn't recognise him at first. She had left late, being delayed by handing in something at the office, and all of the buses had left by the time she arrived at the front gate. Neal was standing hunched over with his hands in his pockets and his hood pulled up despite the warm weather, as though he didn't want to be seen.

“Emma,” he called out as she nearly walked past him. She froze.

_Keep walking,_ was her first thought, as she managed to remain oddly calm. _Pretend you didn't hear him_.

That became impossible a moment later, when he grabbed her arm and tugged her around to face him, pushing his hood back with his other hand.

“Get off me,” she said coolly, shaking off his grip. “I don't want to talk to you.”

“Please, Emma. We really, _really_ need to talk. I need to explain.”

“I think you've done quite enough explaining.” She turned to leave, and he hurried after her, walking close by her side.

“Emma. Come on, _please_. Look. I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry. I know I didn't tell you on the night of the party. I should have, that was my mistake. I hurt you and I was too wrapped up in myself to realise.”

Emma stopped walking. For a moment she couldn't look at him, afraid of what she might find, but when she finally dragged her gaze to his, his eyes were filled with genuine remorse. She let out a long breath.

“Okay,” she said. “Okay. We can talk. _Briefly_ ,” she added, and he gave a small smile.

They ended up in a cheap cafe in the shopping district a little way away from the school. It was close to the library and the supermarket, and Emma was struck by the odd thought that they might run into Killian. She brushed it away as fanciful.

Neal sat opposite her, and the table was large enough that their legs and feet did not touch. They ordered drinks to avoid being kicked out, and Emma began methodically tearing her paper napkin to shreds.

“So,” she said. “Talk.”

“I'm sorry.”

“You said that already.”

“You didn't...” he trailed off. _You didn't say that you accept it_. She still wasn't quite sure if she did. “I want you to know that – I really _am_.”

“Okay. Anything else you want to tell me?”

“Yes,” he said, looking less worried and rather more intense. “After the party my father insisted on taking me home. We, uh... we hadn't spoken since I left.”

Emma perked up a bit, surprised. “You weren't staying with him, then? When you moved back to Storybrooke?”

He shook his head. “No. I've been living with a friend who goes to my school – you might know her, actually, she's friends with Aurora.”

“Mulan?”

“That's the one. Anyway, Dad didn't even know I was back. He must have heard the night of the party and come looking for me, that's why he was there.” He paused, ran a hand through his hair. “We, ah... didn't really leave on good terms. He didn't want me to go on the exchange program.” His face clouded over. “He said if I left, Mum would leave too. That I was the only thing holding the family together.”

Emma grimaced. Despite her annoyance with Neal, she could... _almost_ see why he had been so desperate to get away from his family. Being stuck in the middle of such a huge fight, having so much pressure placed on you – even if it didn't justify his actions, it certainly explained them.

“Anyway. After the party, we... talked. I was mad at him – still am – but he told me some things that I thought you should know.” His hand reached out suddenly, took hold of hers where she was still shredding the napkin and held her still, only letting go when she looked up at him and he was sure he had her full attention.

“Are you still hanging out with Killian?” he asked.

Emma felt suddenly very cold, and she wasn't sure why. Perhaps it was Neal's voice – low and dark and wary, like he was about to deliver bad news. It was the way Killian had sounded up in the announcer's booth at the swimming carnival.

“What's it to you?” she replied, carefully.

“That means yes, doesn't it?” He let out a huff of breath, leaned forward across the table. “He's bad news, Emma.”

“He hates your dad. That's why he pretended to be your friend,” she said. “That's between your dad and him.”

“And _me_ ,” Neal cut in. “ _He's_ the reason, Emma. He's the reason my parents broke up, he's the reason I had to leave-”

“No,” she snapped. “Don't you _dare_ start blaming other people. _You_ chose to leave. It was _your_ decision.” A cold, abject fury was spreading through her stomach. For some reason she couldn't get this one single line of poetry out of her head, repeating over and over as though whirling and trapped inside of her skull: _you bastard, I'm through, you bastard, I'm through_. She stood up so violently her chair scraped back against the floor, and snatched up her schoolbag. “I won't listen to-”  
“My mum was having an affair with him!”

Emma paused in her tracks. The words wiped her mind clean and blank. She wasn't quite sure if she had heard him right.

She sat down again, slowly.

“Say that again?”

“My mum,” Neal repeated. “Milah? The school counsellor? She was having an affair with him. That's why they broke up. That's why dad hates him so much.”

There was a terrible silence. Emma couldn't speak, the words blurred together in her head, a confused mix of _what, why, how_.

She just had no idea what to think.

It certainly was not what she had expected.

“What, exactly, did Mr Gold tell you?” she finally managed.

Neal sighed, ran his hands over his face. “That she started spending more and more time with him. They got close, really close. Dad tried to warn him off a few times but Killian just got mad at him. And it just got worse and worse between my parents, especially since I'd left by then. The breaking point was when something happened with Regina – Dad was vague on that bit, but it got Cora involved somehow, I think. And then Mum lost her job, I guess because Cora found out she'd been in a relationship with a student. I haven't seen her since. Dad doesn't talk to her. _I_ can't talk to her-”

His fists clenched. “After I left? Dad called, now and then, tried to get me to come back. I never answered, but he left messages. Nothing from Mum. Guess she was too wrapped up with _Killian_.” He spat the name.

Emma stared at him. “You blame him.”

“Killian? Of course I do, have you _seen_ him? My mum – she wasn't.... she was _sensible_ , she wouldn't have gotten involved with a student unless he started it first!” He flung out a hand. “ _Look_ at him, he's a total-” he broke off, and Emma tried not to scoff at his efforts to censor himself when his meaning was already perfectly clear.

“In any case,” Neal said lowly, earnestly, and took her hand again in a firm grasp. “You shouldn't... hang around with him. He messed up my parents, don't let him... I don't think it's good for you.”

And here he was yet again, Emma thought bitterly, trying to decide what was best for her based on his own opinions and feelings, failing spectacularly to take into account hers. The anger this time was duller, more of a deep disappointed ache in her stomach.

She pulled her hand away.

“No, Neal,” she said quietly. “God, how can you... how can you _see_ it like that? He would have been, what, _fifteen_? If that? That's just.... it's messed up, how can you blame him for it?”

She stood up. Neal followed, looking pained.

“Emma – it's not about you, it's about me and him-”

“Then _keep it_ between you and him! Don't drag me into it, don't start telling me to do this or do that, or not talk to so-and-so – I don't know what you _want_ Neal, are you trying to get back together?”

“What? No!” He looked strained. “Tamara-”

“Okay! So you're with Tamara. Then you worry about who _Tamara's_ hanging out with, not me.” She picked up her bag, slapped some money on the table and walked out.

Neal followed her. He grabbed her wrist and she spun around.

“Stop.”

“Emma! Please, just... hear me out.” He let go of her, which was the only reason she stayed, hands planted on her hips.

“I don't... I'm not trying to get back together. But we have a history, you and I. We were friends. Good friends. And I messed up when I left, I get it, that's on me, okay? But I'm just... I'm trying to help you. I'm trying to make sure you don't get hurt again. I want to be friends, that's all. Or at least try to... fix things a bit.”

Emma stared at him. Her lie-detector was working double-time, flittering back and forth between trusting his words and being overwhelmed by suspicion. She had believed him once, and it hadn't turned out well. But now....

Now, for all his flaws, for all his messing about, he still seemed to really believe that he was trying to help her. In his own misguided way, but the intent was there. Perhaps it was overly, bitterly sentimental of her, but she couldn't quite bring herself to push him away completely. For better or for worse, he was living in Storybrooke now, and they'd run into each other.

“Okay,” she said. It came out hoarser than she'd have liked. “Friends. Maybe. Eventually.”

“Okay,” he replied, seeming to accept that that was as good as he was going to get for now. He gave a wry smile. “Does this mean I can add you on Facebook again?”

She scoffed out a laugh, which quickly devolved into almost hysterical giggling, and Neal laughed too. The tension was broken, at least for now – and his presence, the memory of what he'd done to her, still made her feel cold and a little sick to think of, but his hand was warm when he put it on her shoulder and led her to the crossing.

“Want me to walk you home?” he asked, and Emma shook her head.

“No. I've got to stop off somewhere first.”

“Okay.” He looked a little miffed, but shrugged. “I'll... see you around then?”

She nodded. And then he went for a hug, which was fifty shades of totally awkward, but she patted his back a few times and then waved him off when he walked towards the bus stop.

And then she went to see Killian.

He didn't answer his phone when she texted, which she assumed meant he was at work, so she checked the supermarket – not there – and then attempted to find her way to the convenience store again. Last time Astrid had driven them there, and it was in a slightly out-of-the-way place that she couldn't quite remember the location of.

It was getting on five o'clock when she finally arrived at the store, having texted her parents to let them know where she was and rather guiltily trying not to think about the economics homework she hadn't started.

She paused outside the door, through which she could see Killian behind the counter.

Maybe now was not the best time. Maybe she shouldn't bring it up and talk to him about it.

At the same time... she had to know if what Neal had said was true, had to know what exactly happened and how it tied into his desire for revenge.

She couldn't help the slightly uncomfortable feeling that had plagued her throughout the entire walk here, because student-teacher relationships were something she had only read about in the Daily Mail, never seen firsthand. And Killian really had been very young, and coupled with the fact that Milah had been not just a teacher but a _counsellor_ -

It was, as she'd told Neal, completely messed up.

Taking a deep breath, she entered the store, the bell above the door loudly announcing her presence. Killian looked up from where he was serving a middle-aged lady, and smiled when he saw her.

“Have a nice day,” he told the customer with a charming grin. Emma made her way to the counter and he leaned forward.

“Hi,” he said. He seemed exceptionally pleased, and Emma quickly realised why; it was pretty much the first time she had sought him out just to hang out, without some reason behind it.

“Hey,” she replied. “How much longer do you work for?”

“I get off at seven. Not too late tonight.”

“You look less tired today.”

“I fell asleep in my study period. Means I have to catch up on homework tonight though. Did you... need something?” he added, and Emma nodded, her smile fading slightly.

“I, um... wanted to talk to you about something. Not here, though. Once you're done working. I can wait here if you want,” she said, and Killian nodded, looking a little wary now.

“Is it about the assignment?”

“No,” she replied. “Don't worry about it.”

“Well, now I _am_ going to worry about it, love,” he laughed. “Your vagueness has made me greatly concerned!”

She laughed as well, but felt a bit sick when she sat down on a stool behind the counter and took out her homework. It was a little hard to concentrate on macroeconomic reforms when Neal's words were cycling around her head. _An affair. They got close, really close. He's a total..._

The two hours seemed to crawl by. They talked now and then about nothing in particular, whenever there wasn't a customer in the store.

Finally seven o'clock rolled around, and a sour, tired looking fellow came in to take over. Killian grabbed his backpack and wandered over to Emma, who had packed away her homework and was standing waiting to go.

“Do you need to get home?” he asked, glancing at his watch.

She shook her head. “I told my parents I'd be out late tonight. You probably haven't eaten, want to get dinner?”

He nodded. “There's not much in the area. We could...” He paused, as though unsure, then said, “We can go back to my place if you want.”

He seemed rather concerned that she would take that as some sort of innuendo, and Emma couldn't help it, she laughed. Coming from Killian Jones, notorious playboy, it was almost... endearing. He was just so determined to do things right by her.

Killian didn't seem to see what was quite so funny. “Or not, if you don't want,” he added quickly, and she tried to stifle her giggles.

“It's fine, it's fine.”

“Why'd you laugh?”

“Don't worry about it!”

“Well, you're giving me a lot to not-worry about today,” he muttered, but smiled as he jogged to hail down a passing bus.

Killian's apartment was as she remembered it; dark, lonely, empty – and still devoid of any sort of parental figure, be it father or brother.

He switched on a few lamps when they entered, but not enough to make the room truly bright.

“I am dreading the electricity bill,” he informed her. “I try not to use it much when I don't have to. My dad fortunately paid the last quarterly bill before he left.”

“Your brother should be back before the next one though, right?” Emma asked.

Killian hesitated, then nodded. “Right,” he said, sounding only partially convinced.

They sat on the couch again, staring out the window at a view of the lights in the opposite apartment block.

“Neal came to see me today,” Emma said quietly. She was sitting close enough to Killian that she felt him stiffen beside her.

“What did he want?” Killian asked.

“He... apologised. For what happened. We actually managed to make up, kind of.”

“What?” Killian turned to her, eyes wide with surprise.

Emma glanced back at him. “Yeah, he... he seemed genuine. I mean, I still don't trust him. We're not back to how we were, even before we were dating. But I guess at least I know, now, why he did it. And he seems to feel bad. So I... forgave him, I suppose.”

“Forgave him.” Killian almost seemed to be turning the words over in his mouth, as though he was unsure what they meant, or failed to grasp the concept. Emma felt a sudden sharp pain for him. His confusion, for some reason, seemed awfully sad.

“Anyway,” she said, and steeled herself. “He told me some other things. About his mother.”

Killian abruptly became so tense that she felt the muscles in his arm turn stiff and rigid where it was pressed against hers. He looked away from her, down at the coffee table.

“Did he now.”

“Yes. I wasn't... I thought maybe you should tell me what happened.”

“What did _he_ tell you?” Killian asked, his voice oddly flat and dull.

“That she had an affair with you,” Emma informed him, keeping her tone measured. “He thinks you seduced her. And that you're the reason she and Gold broke up, and that that's why she got fired.”

Killian scoffed out a humourless laugh. His fist was clenched so tightly that Emma could see his nails digging crescent marks into the palm of his hand.

“How... typical,” he said finally. “Of course _I_ must have seduced her. He couldn't bear to think that maybe _she_ left because of _him_.”

“So it's true,” Emma said, feeling very cold.

He turned his head to look at her again, eyes dark. “Is that what you think?”

“I don't know what to think.”

“It's not true.” He took a deep breath, ran a hand over his face. “It's not true. Mr Gold – _he_ thinks it's true. That's why he got her fired. Made sure she lost her job and enough of her reputation that she won't – can't – work in a school again. She had to move away.”

“So what did happen?” Emma asked softly. She felt she ought to touch him, but he had shifted away from her on the couch.

“It wasn't that sort of relationship,” he said finally. He had stopped looking at her again, instead staring intently at the cast on his wrist. “She was more like... like a mother. I told you already – I didn't have one. And I guess I wanted that. Wanted someone who cared about me, like a parent should have. God knows my Dad wasn't giving that to me. And I thought Liam had been injured, and she noticed I was upset and asked what was wrong. And I told her and she _listened_ , and then I started talking to her more and more.”

He took a deep breath. “It never really felt like she was a counsellor. Not like it does with Dr Hopper.” He gave a humourless smile. “Or _Archie_ , as he wants me to call him. No, she was more like a friend or a mother. And she was smart and funny and I just didn't want to disappoint her. And I guess she was getting through to me, making me see why I was acting out, giving me the guidance and support I needed.”

Emma couldn't help but notice that some of the language he was using was oddly clinical, like he was repeating something he'd been told or heard in a medical report.

“So why... why'd Mr Gold think you guys were together?” she asked.

Killian shook his head. “He is an ass,” he said, and the vicious hatred in his voice was chilling. “Milah wasn't happy, I could tell. I asked her about it, and she didn't want to tell me at first, but eventually... like I said, it was more like we were friends than counsellor and patient. He was distant at home, he was too wrapped up in himself and his position, they were always fighting. He didn't care about her anymore. And she told me things – about how he'd turned corrupt, how he had all this blackmail about people on the school board. How he kept it all on his phone like an idiot, no matter how much she warned him about it.

“I guess he thought we were getting too close. He came up and warned me a few times. It was obvious what he thought, but I just. I _hated_ him at that point, because of what she'd told me. I almost thought it might be better if he thought we _were_ together. Might make him jealous. Make him fight for her, make him care about her again.

“But that was... stupid. He ended up reporting her to Cora and although they couldn't _prove_ anything, he had enough connections to get rid of her.” He kicked at the leg of the coffee table in front of him.

“And so she was sent away. And just like that, I had no one again. And it's not just that – Milah was... special. If she could help me like that... maybe there might have been others. But now she's not able to work with kids at all. All thanks to selfish, stupid, _grasping_ Mr Gold who evidently still thinks I'm to blame for the whole goings-on!”

He fell silent, still tense and turned away from her as though he was afraid to look and see what she was thinking.

“What about Regina?” Emma asked. “How does she fit into this?”

“Doesn't matter,” Killian replied quickly. “So you see... that's why I need to get rid of him. He thinks I'm the one who wrecked everyone's lives – his and Milah's and mine and Neal's. Regina and Cora's. But it wasn't. It was _him_. He's a _monster,_ Emma.” He finally looked at her, eyes wide and pleading. “Do you _understand_?”

Emma didn't know what to do or say.

She was relieved, in part, that Neal had been wrong. Given the players in this whole affair, she could also see exactly where the misunderstandings had arisen, why everyone would be so fixed upon their own view of things.

_Mr Gold_.

She didn't know a lot about him. Had never hated him, per say – more of a vague dislike – but hearing this? It made her _angry_ , because no matter what he thought had happened, Killian had still been just a kid at the time. You shouldn't... you didn't blame kids for that sort of thing.

Killian was still waiting, though, growing more despondent by the minute, so she found herself beginning to nod.

“Yes,” she said.

His shoulders slumped a bit – relief or upset, she couldn't tell – and it seemed like the right moment to lean across and put an arm around him.

It was not the most perfect hug Emma had ever initiated; the angle was slightly off and he could only half-hug her back because one of his arms was trapped against the couch. It was still strange, though, being pressed up so close against him. She could feel the rough wool of his sweater against her cheek, the rise and fall of his breath. His heart beating oddly hard and fast – or was it hers?

After a moment he shifted and somehow their position fell into something much more comfortable. His other arm came up around her and his fingers brushed through her hair slightly, making her shiver.

“You probably think it's very stupid,” Killian murmured, voice close against her ear. “I mean, she was a _teacher_. But she cared about me, and...”

“I know,” Emma replied. “I get it.” There had been a student teacher once, a young man with lonely eyes who seemed to understand her. He had given her The Call of the Wild to read, but before they had the chance to talk about it Regina had noticed Emma's interest in him and had her mother send him off to a different school.

She knew the feeling, though. It had been the same with Mary Margaret, with David, with Astrid and Leroy.

“It's not just her.” She pulled away from the hug, and Killian sat back a bit. They were still very close, turned to face each other on the small couch.

“What's that mean?” he asked.

“She's not the only one. Victor cares about you.” The words felt awkward in her mouth – overly sentimental, but she couldn't stop them. “And the rest of your friends.”

And then, after an odd pause: “ _I_ care about you.”

He gave a little sharp intake of breath.

Emma had no idea what she was doing.

Maybe it was the apartment, the dull lamplight casting their shadows abnormally tall against the wall, seeming dark and close around them, keeping them trapped in their own little circle of light.

Maybe it was the heady, heavy atmosphere that always came with people revealing big secrets and deep feelings, or the air hanging on the last breath he'd taken.

Maybe it was that he was sitting so close to her, eyes wide and so very blue and filled with almost shock and pure, disbelieving delight at her last words.

Whatever it was, she found herself leaning forward and gently pressing her lips to his.

There was a slightly awkward moment where he went very still, and then she went very still, fully prepared to pull back, frantically wondering if she'd misjudged the situation-

But then his hand came up again, against her hair, and he kissed her, an odd mix of urgency and gentleness – cradling her head rather than pulling her against him, giving her the space to move away if she wanted.

She didn't.

“Emma,” he breathed out finally, against her lips, and she paused. Their foreheads were pressed together and her heart was pounding so fast she could barely feel the separate beats. She felt a little lightheaded.

“I, um.” She pulled back, unsure where to look. “I should go.”

He cleared his throat a bit, and she thought she saw him nod from the corner of her eye. She tried to say 'see you tomorrow' but the words stuck in her throat; they seemed a little callous anyway.

They managed the miraculous feat of walking to the door without looking at each other. When she finally darted a glance at him, his face was flushed and he seemed slightly dazed, as if he was still processing what had just happened.

Hell, _she_ didn't know what had just happened.

This time she made it the entire way down the stairs without hearing the door shut. She stepped out into the parking lot, and pressed her fingers to her lips, and wondered what on earth she had just gotten herself into.  


	15. Gall

 “I kissed Killian yesterday,” Emma blurted out.

Mary Margaret, who had been adjusting the focus of a microscope, went very still. After a moment she looked up at Emma, then across the room to Regina as though she feared this was some prank. Then she looked back at Emma, a tentative sort of confusion etched across her features.

“Okay,” she said finally. “Um.... _why_?”

“Because,” Emma began, and then paused. “I'm.... not really sure.”

“ _You_ kissed him, or he kissed you and you kissed back just because?”

“ _I_ kissed him,” Emma repeated. “I initiated it. Well, we were sort of... hugging first. I initiated that too.”

“Okay,” Mary Margaret repeated. She tapped her pen against her notebook a few times, made as though to write something down, then dropped the whole thing and turned to Emma again. It seemed she was processing this new information in stages. “Do you like him, then?”

“I don't know!” Emma groaned, and ran her hands over her face. “It was confusing. I mean, we're friends, and he's been... really nice to me.”

“Really nice? What does that mean? How much have you guys been hanging out outside of the English project?” she asked with a frown.

Emma shrugged. “A bit?”

Mary Margaret's frown deepened, and Emma sighed. Over the last few days she had been feeling sort of guilty about just how much Mary Margaret was being left out of the loop – not even intentionally, or because Emma didn't trust her. She just wasn't sure how to bring up the subject, how to make her understand.

“He's got stuff going on at home,” she explained – the same thing she'd said to David, an effective way of getting her point across without going into too many details. “And I guess he gets how it was for me, with the foster homes and stuff.”

“Oh,” Mary Margaret said.

Emma nodded. “So we've been talking. Anyway, it was... just a kiss.”

“Just a kiss?” Mary Margaret asked. “Emma, you haven't...” She trailed off, but Emma knew exactly what she was going to have said. _You haven't looked at a guy seriously since Neal_. She pressed her lips together and made no comment.

Finally, Mary Margaret sighed. “Okay. Killian. I could maybe – _maybe_ – get on board with this, since David was telling me the other day that he helped out with that assignment thing. But _please_ don't tell me we're going to start hanging out with Regina next!”

Her tone was only half-serious, but Emma frowned. At that moment the bell rang for the end of the period, and they began to pack up.

“Killian said something weird the other day,” she ventured. “About you and Regina?”

Mary Margaret froze suddenly, and Emma's frown deepened.

“Are you... is everything okay?” she asked.

Mary Margaret gave a stiff nod as she bent to pack the microscope away under the lab bench. “Yeah. Yeah, everything's fine!” She straightened up and pushed her hair back behind her ears with a rather forced smile. “What did he say?”

“He implied that Regina has a reason for hating us so much,” Emma said. “I know... I don't believe _you_ did anything wrong, of course. But I have been wondering what exactly caused this whole thing to start.”

Mary Margaret gathered her books up. She didn't say anything as they walked out of class.

“You don't have to tell me if you don't want to,” Emma added, as the silence began to become awkward.

“No, I... I'll tell you,” Mary Margaret said, sounding a bit nervous. They paused in the corridor, in a quiet nook between two blocks of lockers. “I mean... it's only fair.”

It took Emma a moment to puzzle out what she meant, and then she realised – despite all of her trust issues, she had eventually opened up to Mary Margaret about her past, and they'd become closer because of it.

“It's kind of stupid, really,” Mary Margaret continued.

“The biggest fights always are,” Emma replied. “So what happened?”

She took a deep breath. “We actually used to be very good friends. We lived near each other, went to the same primary school.”

“What?” Emma asked, taken aback.

Mary Margaret gave a bitter laugh. “Yeah – you wouldn't think it, to see us now. Anyway, we were friends, but her _best_ friend was this boy called Daniel. I have literally never seen two closer people. I think they knew each other since they were babies.”

Suddenly Emma recalled something Killian had said when they were at Regina's house for the party. That Regina had been with someone _“once_ ” before high school started – and, in response to Emma's declaration that that _“didn't count”_ , that it had been _“different.”_ Was it Daniel he'd been referring to?

“So what happened?” Emma asked.

Mary Margaret bit her lip. “I'm not sure exactly what the details were, but Principal Mills wanted Regina to stop talking to Daniel. I think maybe she had a fight with Daniel's mother about something? Anyway, obviously Regina didn't listen to her and she kept hanging out with him in secret. She told me not to tell anyone. And... I accidentally told someone.”

Emma shook her head. “You are _really_ bad with secrets,” she said – something she had learned early on in their friendship – and Mary Margaret groaned, covering her face with her hands.

“I know, I know. I'm just an inherently honest person!”

“That's one way of putting it! So... Ms Mills found out?”

“Ms Mills found out. And got... very, _very_ angry. I don't know exactly what happened, but somehow she got Daniel sent away – I think she organised for his family to be offered a really good job somewhere across the country. But she cracked down _really_ hard on Regina – cut off every possible way she could communicate with him again.”

“That's...” _Weird_ , was the first thing that came to mind. What could possibly have happenedto make Regina's mother so set on keeping her daughter away from a prepubescent boy? “Harsh.”

“I know. And Regina was furious at me for it. She stayed away from me the whole of the holidays and then when high school started she was... well, how she is now. Dead-set on ruining my life.”

“So she's held a grudge for _five years_ over something you accidentally did when you were ten years old?”

“That's the gist of it!”

Emma shook her head. “That's _crazy_.”

“I know. I've apologised about a hundred times already, so by this point I've just given up.” Mary Margaret sighed, shook her head. “I mean, I could get it if she just wanted to ignore me. But taking it out on me all the time? On you, on David? She's just turned into a bully.”

Emma nodded. “So why did you never tell us this before?” she asked curiously. “You were so secretive about it I was starting to think you'd killed someone!”

Mary Margaret laughed. “I don't know. I guess I still feel kind of bad about it. Regina trusted me so much back then. I miss the old her. I ruined everything just by being so _stupid_.”

“You were a _child_.”

“I know, I know. Still.”

Emma smiled and jostled her. “So are you going to tell the others, or keep them in suspense wondering what the _oh so horrible_ thing you did was?”

Mary Margaret laughed again, and they set off down the corridor.

“I still don't get,” Emma said after a moment. “Why Ms Mills would do that. It seems like a pretty major overreaction.”

Mary Margaret nodded. “I agree. I guess we'll never know.”

_Killian knows,_ Emma thought. He had to know – there had to be more to it, otherwise why would he act like Regina's hatred of the group was completely justified? Then again, he was Mr Super Revenge Advocate – but to this extent? And speaking of revenge, this hadto be tied in somehow to Regina wanting to get rid of Mr Gold. Hadn't Killian mentioned that Cora wanted him fired?

She shook her head, frustrated. _What a mess!_

Deciding to save herself the headache of trying to work it all out, she resolved to ask Victor about it later. Perhaps he could provide some more insight.

 

* * *

 

Ruby nudged Emma so vigorously that she nearly choked on a bite of sandwich.

“Look who's crossing No Man's Land,” she said, and Emma turned to see Killian sauntering across the playground towards them. David and Mary Margaret glanced at him, then at each other. David didn't seem as annoyed as he usually would if someone from Regina's group approached them, and even gave Killian a nod of greeting when he came to stand at their table.

“Hey,” Killian said, addressing all of them but looking at Emma.

Because life was against her, her mouth was full of bread and she couldn't answer, instead giving a slightly awkward smile and wave while chewing vigorously.

“...what's up?” Ruby asked, seeing her dilemma.

Killian shrugged. “I've been exiled for treason,” he informed them, and David's eyebrows rose.

“What? Regina's mad because of the assignment thing?” he asked. Killian nodded.

“Sidney worked out when we handed it in today that things hadn't gone as planned. He was not impressed. They don't know for sure it was me, but I'm getting a bit sick of the snide comments.” He gave a rather humourless grin. “Fortunately Regina needs me too much to get really mad at me.”

“Needs you?” Mary Margaret asked in confusion.

Emma, finally swallowing her food, gave him a strange look. She knew exactly what he meant – _needs me for the plan_ – were things close to going ahead then?

“Don't worry about it,” Killian said. “Mind if I borrow Emma for a moment?”

“I need to go to the vending machine anyway,” she replied, getting up. Ruby gave her a knowing grin, and Emma flicked her shoulder as she passed. She hadn't told the other girl what had happened last night, but she obviously suspected something – probably because Emma hadn't managed to look Killian in the eye since he walked up to them, unsure what would happen.

“I'll walk you there,” Killian said, and they wandered off towards the canteen.

“So,” he said when they were halfway there.

“So,” Emma replied. “We should... probably talk about last night.”

“Yeah. It has certainly been on my mind,” he began, then broke off a bit awkwardly.

Emma felt her cheeks flush. To say that she hadn't been able to stop thinking about the kiss would be a lie – but it had certainly been a struggle not to dwell on it. It was only through sheer force of will and a desire to not fail economics that she had managed to push it from her mind for most of the day. Now that it had been brought up again, she felt an odd nervous fluttering in her stomach.

Mary Margaret had asked if she liked him. _I don't know_. It hadn't been entirely the truth – but admitting that was too much of a step. She was... afraid.

“I... can't do this right now,” she said. Killian stopped walking, and she took another few steps before turning to face him.

“This?” he questioned.

“This,” she repeated, and gestured between them. “I can't... I'm not ready for something like that.” An apology was on the tip of her tongue, but she bit it back. She shouldn't have to be sorry for it.

Killian's eyes softened. “You must have realised by now that I... care about you greatly.”

“Um. Yes.”

“But I don't... we don't have to rush anything. What happened last night. You can forget about it.” He said it quickly, as though the words burned him. “It doesn't have to change anything. We're still friends.”

“Killian.” She touched his arm briefly. “I don't want to _forget_ about it. Just... not right now.”

“Of course.” He smiled, gentle and almost relieved. “Whatever you want, Emma. I'm not going anywhere.”

She smiled back, but his words sent that odd nervousness flaring in her stomach again as they continued walking.

_Not going anywhere_. Except he would be going – he would be _leaving_ – if he got caught messing with Mr Gold. He would be kicked out of the school, and then what would he do? He'd have to go back to England, more likely than not.

_Don't think about it_ , she told herself. _Don't do this to yourself._

Except she couldn't _help_ thinking about it, because almost everyone else had left her. Her so-called parents, time and time again. Neal. And Killian's words had sounded like a promise, but they couldn't actually _be_ one, not a real one. Not as long as he continued with this mad scheme.

They returned to the table, where Killian sat down and promptly managed to strike up a conversation with David about football. Mary Margaret's gaze flickered between her boyfriend and Emma before lingering thoughtfully on Killian.

Ruby leaned over to Emma and whispered, “What happened?”

“We were working things out.”

“Why would you need to be working things out?”

“I may have kissed him last night.”

“ _What_?” Ruby's voice practically squeaked, and the others all glanced up. “Bathroom!” She exclaimed then, practically dragging Emma off the bench and in the vague direction of the toilets.

“You _kissed him_?” she asked, sounding delighted. “When? Why? Was it good?”

“Dude! You're cutting off my circulation,” Emma laughed as she detached Ruby's hand from her arm. “It was... an impulse thing. And I was just telling him that I don't want to get into anything.”

“Wait, what?” Ruby looked almost crushed for a moment, then very confused. “You turned him down? I thought – I was _certain_ – that you liked him!”

“I don't not-like him,” Emma replied.

“So... you _are_ into him then?”

“Not as long as he's on this mad revenge business,” Emma said firmly. It was a simpler way to say it than getting into her trust issues. “That's not... I don't want to be involved in that.”

Ruby shook her head, smile back on her face. “I'm telling you. You are living in your own personal Pride and Prejudice. This is the first proposal.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No,” Emma said, elbowing her. “What about you and Victor, then?”

She meant it as a joke, but an odd smile appeared on Ruby's face, and Emma stopped in her tracks.

“Wait, you guys... _really_?”

“Maybe,” Ruby replied with a grin.

“You what? Kissed him?”

“Yeah, a while ago. The night we went to the Rabbit Hole.” She shrugged. “We're not... officially doing anything yet, though. Waiting until the assignment's handed in, haha.”

“Why didn't you tell me?”

“If I reported every boy I kissed to you, your ears would fall off,” Ruby grinned.

Emma elbowed her again. “This is different, though!”

“Is it?”

“I thought it was,” Emma said, except Ruby was frowning now, looking almost uncertain for the first time Emma had ever seen.

“I don't know,” she said, and then shook herself. “We can talk about it later, I think the bell's about to go.”

As if on cue, lunch ended, and they headed back to the table. To Emma's great relief, no fights had broken out in their absence, and David was actually grinning at something Killian had said. Mary Margaret looked equal parts amused and speculative.

“Where are you next period?” Killian asked her as she gathered up her books.

“Room 18.”

“I'm near there, I'll walk you over.”

Discussion turned to the assignment, due the next day, as they headed off. It turned out Killian's room was just across the hall, so they kept each other company as they waited for their teachers to arrive.

“We can meet up after school today to work out the speech,” Emma said. “The collage is just about done.”

“Yeah. With the character analysis bit I'm thinking...”

But what he was thinking, Emma never found out; he trailed off suddenly as his eyes drifted off down the corridor. She followed his gaze and frowned as she spied Belle and Mr Gold walking into another classroom together. One of the walls being made of glass, she saw them continue to talk once inside the room. Belle seemed to be telling him something humorous; she was laughing and making dramatic gestures with her hands. Mr Gold huffed with amusement every now and then. His head was tilted to the side as he watched her intently, an almost fond smile on his face.

“I don't understand it,” Killian said in a low voice, and Emma turned back to him. “How she can _like_ him. Miss French is...”

“Basically the epitome of a good person?”

“Everything that _he_ isn't,” he spat. “It just... it doesn't make sense.”

“He's seemed nicer lately,” Emma said cautiously, and Killian rounded on her, eyes flashing.

“What are you talking about?” he demanded. “He's been a total asshole as always!”

“In maths, yeah,” she agreed. “But our homeroom had a uniform inspection the other day and he was... less mean than usual.”

“Less mean,” he muttered. “I don't trust it.”

“I think Miss French is making him happier,” Emma said, looking back at the two teachers. She hesitated, then turned to Killian and waited until he was looking her in the eye to say, “I think she makes him want to be a better person.”

Killian flinched back. “Don't,” he said. “Don't compare me to him.”

Since the swimming carnival, Emma had been torn for a while on whether or not she should straight-out ask him not to go ahead with his plan. Especially now that she knew the full story about Milah and how much this meant to him. It had seemed a bit like emotional manipulation.

But now, seeing Mr Gold reach out to touch Belle's shoulder as they smiled and laughed, it didn't seem inconceivable to her that the man had changed. And that made Regina and Killian's plan even more of a bad idea.

“Killian,” she said. “I don't think you should do this.”

“I'm not doing anything he hasn't done himself.”

“Then you're stooping to his level! Remember when I told you why my group never tries to get back at Regina? And before you say anything, no, the apple thing doesn't count. We... Mary Margaret told me today. What happened with Daniel.”

“You don't know the whole story,” Killian said.

“I know that Mary Margaret was ten and didn't mean to do it.”

“Whether she meant it or not, it had repercussions.” He looked at Mr Gold again, face twisting into a scowl. “What hedid is unforgivable. He destroyed Milah; he bloody near destroyed me with her. So I'm going to _hurt him_ , I don't give a shit if Miss French is – is _changing_ him or whatever. I don't _care_.”

Emma pressed her lips together, and Killian's gaze flickered away from her face. She didn't need to say anything, her feelings rang out loud and clear. _You're on that road. You're going to become him if you're not careful_.

Killian physically turned away from her then, leaning against the wall and looking down at the floor.

“I know,” Emma said. “I've wanted to do it too. Hurt people. It won't... it won't get her back, Killian, it'll just get more people hurt and get _you_ in trouble!”

“I'm not doing this,” he ground out through gritted teeth.

“I'm just saying. I like a lot of things about you, but this is not one of them. It's not too late for you to _stop_.”

He didn't look at her, kept his jaw clenched and his eyes turned away.

“Getting over him? Getting on with your life? That would be the biggest possible way to one-up him. You still have a choice, you don't.... you haven't hit your turning point yet,” she added, finally, a last desperate bid to get her point across.

Killian was silent for a moment. Then he gave a heavy sigh, shoulders heaving as he ran a hand over his face. He finally looked at her, though it was more than a quick sidelong glance.

“Yes. I have,” he said. His voice was tired and a little sad.

At that moment more people, including Emma's teacher, came down the corridor, bringing an abrupt end to the conversation. Emma frowned as she walked into class, casting a final glance at Killian where he was still waiting in the hallway.

If her lie detector wasn't deceiving her... she was fairly certain his last words hadn't been entirely truthful.  
  


* * *

 

“Are you walking home?” Ruby asked, as she lingered outside Emma's locker watching her pack her bag to go home.

“No, Killian and I are meeting to work on the assignment. Hopefully the library's open again.”

Ruby bit her lip. “Victor is raging mad at him.”

“What?” Emma slammed her locker door shut. “At Killian?”

She nodded. “He was really rooting for you two.”

Emma groaned. “Oh, God.”

“I'm serious! He told me you are the first person Killian has ever really, genuinely seemed to like and trust. And here he is chucking it away over this Mr Gold thing! Speaking of, he has some news about it.”

“Pray share.”

“Okay, so whatever Killian was doing with that phone, he's finished and they're ready to do whatever it is they're doing. Regina has been shady with the details, but Victor thinks it's something to do with test papers.”

“Test papers?”

Ruby nodded. “Yeah. I think the only way they can get him in enough trouble to be fired is if it was found out that he'd been cheating on standardised tests. That's hard to get away with no matter how much blackmail he has on people on the Board. So they're going to, I don't know, I think plant something in his office and on his computer? Using the passwords they got from his phone to break in? Something like that.”

“When's this happening?” Emma asked.

“Some time in the next few days,” Ruby replied. “Not sure exactly when, but very, _very_ soon.”

Emma frowned. The assignment was due tomorrow, but since it involved their entire class giving speeches, it was doubtful that everyone would get to present on the first day. Meaning that the presentations would spread on for the rest of the week – exactly when Regina and Killian were planning to hit Gold.

“Any luck convincing him not to do it?” Ruby asked hopefully, and Emma shook her head.

“None whatsoever."

“Damn it. If _you_ can't convince him, there's no chance Victor can – let alone talk _Regina_ out of it.”

“We still don't have the whole picture with Regina,” Emma said, as they began to walk towards the gate.

“Victor doesn't know much about it.”

Killian was waiting for her. Emma was briefly worried that the way they had parted earlier might make things a bit awkward, but he smiled as though nothing had even happened, and she decided she may as well just go along with it.

“Emma. Ruby,” he said, and Ruby jabbed a finger at his chest.

“You're throwing away a good thing here, Jones,” she informed him, and he frowned.

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“You'll figure it out,” she replied, with a glance at Emma, who was by this point glaring. “Bye then.”

“Bye...?” Killian turned to her, seeming confused. “What was she talking about?”

“I don't know,” Emma lied. Letting him know that his revenge issues were the reason she was hesitant to get closer to him was _definitely_ too much like emotional manipulation for her taste. “Library?”

“Yeah, okay,” he said, still looking rather concerned.

Despite their earlier attempts to forget their near-argument in the hallway, it soon become painfully obvious that they were both still thinking about it. The conversation on the way to the library was stilted, trying too hard to be casual.

Once they did reach the library and settled down to put the finishing touches on the collage, both avoided looking at or talking about the pirate ship in the middle of the maze. It would be the perfect way to segue the conversation back to where they'd left it off – but Emma didn't want to. If he _was_ entertaining the possibility, however vaguely, that he wasn't absolutely hell-bent on revenge, it was probably best not to push it.

“Are you nervous?” Killian asked finally, as they began coordinating speech cards.

“About presenting?” she replied. “No, not really. I'm alright with public speaking. Why, are you?”

“No,” he said, a little too quickly.

Not nervous about the speech, then. Nervous about the other thing that was going to happening around that time.

She cut out the rest of her speech card perhaps a bit too vigorously, as Killian glanced at her and then flinched minutely. Emma could tell exactly what he was thinking; he thought she was angry with him. It was killing her, because she could _see_ that part of him wanted to be able to drop it. To listen to her and let it go and not go through with it. But the anger, the resentment against Gold, was just too strong. And half of her wanted to just reach out and _shake him_ , the other half was just... sad.

It was evening by the time they were finally done. They sat back, and looked at the finished project before them. The collage, complex and beautiful, a maze of illustrations and words, the pirate ship in the centre surrounded by different plot lines and themes branching out from it in the shape of stormy waves.

It had been three weeks of intense work, of ups and downs.

Somehow, Emma had thought she'd feel more victorious when it was finished. Instead she just felt rather drained.

Beside her, Killian let out a deep breath.

“Good work, Swan,” he said. “Tomorrow we hand it in.”

“Feels a bit anticlimactic,” she added, with a slightly forced laugh.

“You're telling me.” He glanced at her. “I... enjoyed working on this with you.”

“Likewise. Not at first, though,” she grinned, and he let out a strained chuckle.

_God_ , this was awkward. Terrible and awkward, and she wanted to kick herself. Or him. Or possibly Mr Gold.

“I'll see you tomorrow, then,” he said, rising, and she nodded. They packed up in silence.

An odd sick trepidation brewed up in Emma's stomach as they walked out of the library, and despite Killian being right by her side, she suddenly felt very far away from him.


	16. Rank

 “And thus it can be seen that love was a driving factor in the events of Hamlet, resulting in the complex personal relationships that continue to make the play a relevant text throughout different eras,” Mary Margaret declared.

Their presentation finished to a spattering of applause. Emma caught her friend's eye and gave her a thumbs up.

“Thank you, David, Mary Margaret,” Belle announced. “The bell's about to go, so that will be our last presentation for today. We'll continue tomorrow. If you haven't already, I need everyone to give me their visual representations either in hard copy or on a USB so that I can mark them down as completed.”

“How was it?” Mary Margaret asked, as she slipped into her seat beside Emma.

“Great! It actually gave me a ton of idea for essays.”

“Are you relieved you weren't picked?”

Emma shrugged. The students were being selected to present at random.

“I guess. We haven't actually practiced all that much,” she admitted. “We may or may not have finished putting the speech together last night.”

“I think everyone did.”

The bell rang for the end of class, and everyone got up. Emma was halfway to the door when she heard Belle say, “Killian – can you stay behind for a minute? I want to talk to you.”

Emma paused, glancing across the room to Killian. She saw a flash of alarm cross his face before he plastered on an easy smile and gathered his books, sauntering across to the teacher's desk.

“Everything okay?” David asked, coming up next to her and following her gaze. He frowned.

“Yeah – s'fine,” Emma said. They left the classroom, but she lingered. “I'm... going to go to the bubbler.”

“Okay.” He exchanged a look with Mary Margaret. “See you at lunch then.”

She nodded. The bubbler was just around the corner from their English room, and she paused to take a drink. She had a study next period, so she wouldn't be late to class. She didn't intend to listen in on Killian and Belle – couldn't hear them through the closed door anyway – she just wanted to check in with Killian when he finally came out.

After a few minutes she heard the classroom door opening, and Killian saying, “Bye, Miss.” Before she could round the corner to see him, however, Regina's voice rang out.

“What was that about?”

“Shit,” Killian said. “God damn it, Regina, she _knows_.”

“What are you talking about?”

Emma paused. She'd had no intention of eavesdropping, but this was almost too good a chance to pass up. Maybe she could finally get some solid information about what was going on.

“She knows! She was asking me all these questions. I think she suspects something.”

“Questions?” Regina's voice seemed calm, but Emma could detect underlying tension. “What sort of questions?”

“She kept asking if 'everything was okay' and if I 'had something going on'.”

A heavy sigh. “Stop being so paranoid, you fool. She doesn't suspect a thing. Perhaps if you pulled yourself together and stopped coming to school half-asleep, people wouldn't be asking you these things.”

A pause.

“You're not bailing out on me, are you?” Regina's voice was low and tight. “I swear to God, Killian, if you're backing out-”

“I'm not! I was _concerned_.”

“Well, you can put away your concerns. We're fine. Nobody knows. Look at this – Pan emailed me last night. He got us the papers. All we need to do is plant them in Gold's office. And by we, I mean you.”

“When?”

Their voices faded in volume suddenly, and when Emma ventured to peer around the corner, they had begun walking off in the other direction. With an uneasy feeling in her stomach, she headed to her study room.

 

* * *

 

She didn't see Killian again that day until maths. Under Mr Gold's orders, they no longer sat together, but she could immediately see that something was up. For once he wasn't goading Gold, merely doing his work quietly – but whenever their teacher wasn't looking, Killian's eyes would follow him intently, almost speculatively.

She caught him on the way out of the lesson, grabbing his elbow in the doorway and pulling him aside.

“Hey,” he said, sounding rather distracted. “What's up?”

“What's going on with you?” she asked.

“What do you mean?”

“You know exactly what I mean,” she said, fixing him with an accusing stare.

He looked at her for a moment, then his shoulders slumped. He drew her a little further away from the classroom.

“Okay,” he said. “Okay. We're doing it tomorrow.”

Her stomach dropped. “When tomorrow?”

“He has a meeting with the other year coordinators in the morning. Once he leaves his office I'll do it.”

Emma stared at him. For some reason, the only thing she could think of was that they had English in period one. She said as much, and he grimaced.

“It won't take me that long. Don't worry, I'll be there if we get called up to present.”

Her displeasure must have shown on her face, because he looked away, a shadow of guilt flickering across his features.

“I'm sorry, okay? I know you don't like this. But I'm going to do it.”

“If that's how you feel about it,” she replied. He looked like he wanted to say something, but then closed his mouth, lips pressed into a tight line.

Emma sighed. “You doing anything after school today?”

“Not until later tonight. Why?”

“We should practice our speech. I think Ruby and Victor are practicing as well, they haven't presented yet. We could all meet up.”

“Okay,” Killian said. They parted ways slightly awkwardly.

Victor's homeroom was near Emma's, and she ran into him on her way to the gate.

“It's tomorrow,” she informed him. “Killian's mysterious friend got them whatever test papers they need to plant. They're doing it in the morning while Gold's in a meeting.”

Victor cursed. “Any luck convincing him?”

“Ruby asked me that yesterday. No. He's... determined.” She couldn't help the flicker of disappointment. It was stupid, she realised, to hope that Killian would change his mind just because _she_ asked him to. He might like her – but this was obviously more important to him. Yet again she just wasn't worth enough to somebody.

Shaking herself, she tried to brush these thoughts away as petty. _He's not hurting you deliberately_ , she assured herself.

_...but he's still hurting you_.

“Hey. You okay?” Victor nudged her with his elbow, and she glanced up, startled to find they were approaching the gate where the others were waiting. Killian and Ruby were both looking at her in concern, though they were too far away to hear her conversation.

“Yeah,” she said, snapping back to reality. “Fine. Just spaced out for a minute.”

He raised an eyebrow, but didn't bring it up again.

There was some children's author doing a presentation at the library, and it was full of screaming kids, so they ended up bussing to Ruby's house. Her parents being divorced and both employed in jobs that required frequent travel, she lived alone with her grandmother, who was currently out working at the diner she owned. Emma couldn't help but notice that Victor swanned into the house and plonked his stuff down with a familiarity that spoke of having been there several times before.

“Let's get right into things, shall we?” Ruby suggested. “Victor and I will go first?”

Emma nodded. Killian made no comment, seating himself distractedly at the kitchen table, his eyes fixed vacantly on the others' powerpoint presentation.

Victor cleared his throat. “Death! It has long been an enduring preoccupation of humanity, and in Shakespeare's Hamlet manifests most predominantly through the ghost of the late King. This not only sets up death as a recurring subject matter of the text, but plays into contextual themes regarding religion and superstition...”

Emma tried her hardest to concentrate, but it was a bit difficult with Killian fidgeting beside her constantly. She glanced across at him to find his eyes fixed on Ruby, even though Victor was the one currently talking. It was evident that he was paying no attention whatsoever.

When the other two finished, Emma clapped. Killian had a rather more delayed reaction, blinking a few times before giving a wan smile and making a half-hearted effort to applaud with one hand.

“How was it?” Ruby asked.

“Good! Maybe try talk a bit faster though, you were a little over the time limit.”

They all turned to Killian expectantly.

“I agree with Emma,” he said, and Victor frowned.

“Were you even listening at all?”

“Of course!”

“Really?” Victor pulled out a chair at the table for Ruby, then sat down himself. “Name one point we discussed.”

“The contrast between the honourable deaths of Fortinbras' army with the death forced upon Old Hamlet, who as a warrior would rather have been slain in battle.”

“A valiant attempt to bullshit an answer,” Victor admitted. “You will go far with the unseen exam question. But you're not fooling me.”

An uneasy silence descended over the table.

“Is this an intervention?” Killian asked, flatly.

Ruby rolled her eyes. “It wasn't intended to be, but you know what, I think it's headed steadily in that direction!”

His face clouded over. “I don't know how you all found out about the plan-”

“You were completely unsubtle,” Victor cut in.

“-but things have already been set in motion. Nothing you can say or do can convince me to stop. I _will_ have my revenge.”

Emma was the only one sitting close enough to him to notice the way his hand was shaking, clenched into a fist under the table. The room suddenly felt claustrophobic, the air thick with tension.

“What will it take?” Victor asked finally, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms behind his head with faux-casuality. “Seriously, what will it take? I thought, I _really_ thought, that you cared enough about us to listen when we asked you not to do this.”

“Don't play that card,” Killian snapped.

“I'll play whatever card I have to! This isn't just about _you_ , Killian-”

“It is _exactly_ about me!” He slammed his fist down on the table, and Emma couldn't help but jump. It seemed to take Killian effort not to look in her direction. “It's about what he did to me, it's about what he did to Regina. You guys are not involved _at all_.”

“You're wrong,” Ruby said quietly. “We got involved when we became _friends_ with you. We care about you, which means if you get in trouble? That hurts _us_."

“Maybe you should just stop caring then,” Killian spat.

All three of them flinched back a bit at the venom in his tone. He shoved his chair back and stood up, but Victor lunged forward, grabbed his wrist and yanked him back down into his seat.

“What will it take _?”_ he repeated. “Us threatening to go and tell Cora?”

“You wouldn't,” Killian said dismissively, wrenching his arm away.

Ruby was staring at Emma, urging her to do something, to say something. She couldn't speak. If she made a genuine plea and he rejected it – she wasn't quite sure how she might react. It was self-defence, more than anything.

“As I told you,” and his voice was fraught with that synthetic, patronising tone that she hadn't heard from him in a long time, “There is _nothing_ you can do. This ship has sailed.”

He stood up again, and this time Victor didn't stop him.

“No,” Emma said, finally breaking her silence. Killian looked in her direction, but wouldn't meet her eyes, staring instead at the top of her head. “Nothing's sailed until you actually go through with it.”

He looked at her a moment longer before turning away, grabbing his bag and stalking out of the house. They heard the door shut distantly behind him.

Victor leaned forward on the table and let out a long breath. “What an _idiot_. I need some air.” He headed out onto the veranda. Ruby got up and moved to the seat beside Emma.

“You okay?” she asked.

“Fine,” Emma replied flatly. “Why wouldn't I be?”

Ruby shrugged. “Just, you know,” she said, which was incredibly helpful.

Emma sighed and rubbed her temples. “I know what you mean,” she admitted. “I care about him. And he pretty much just blew me right off, so.”

Ruby was looking at her speculatively. “You remember how I used to always try set you up with guys?” she said suddenly, and Emma gave a mighty snort.

“Uh, yeah, I remember. Where's this going?”

“You never took any of them seriously. I could tell it was about Neal, and what he did, and how you couldn't trust them not to do the same thing – but you weren't even trying, you didn't want to. I'm not trying to make it sound like it was your fault, I'm just...”

“Yeah, I get it,” Emma assured her.

“With Killian it's different, right?” Ruby prompted.

Emma was quiet a moment. She felt that odd, sick nervousness again. Finally, she gave a stilted nod.

“Yes. You're right. I... I _want_ to trust him, I really do. More than I've wanted it with anyone before.” She scoffed out a laugh. “I picked a good one, didn't I?”

“No, you did,” Ruby said seriously. “I can tell you two... connect. I think it's good for you.”

“He's going to get caught,” Emma said, voice flat. “He will get caught, and be sent away, because he refused to listen to me. It will _not_ be good for me.”

“I don't think he sees it like that,” Ruby replied. “I don't think he realises how you feel about it.”

“He must be absolutely blind then. I've asked him about ten times not to do it.”

“You didn't tell him what it would do to _you_ , though,” Ruby said. Emma looked away, and her friend reached forward and grasped her by the shoulders. “Emma! You're good at hiding things. He doesn't realise how much he means to you. It's not just Killian who has to make a choice here!”

“What are you talking about?!”

“Right now he's blinded by his revenge, but if you can make him _see,_ ” Ruby said, staring her in the eyes. “If you tell him that going ahead with this is hurting you? That it feels like he's abandoning you? I'm think that he'd stop. Scratch that, I'm _certain_ that he'd stop.”

Emma was silent. She could feel herself beginning to shake, minutely, under the pressure, and clenched her fists to keep her hands still.

_I can't_.

“I know it's hard,” Ruby said, more gently. “But you need to trust him.”

Emma bit her lip. It had been easy to tell herself that giving Killian that ultimatum – _revenge or me_ – wasn't fair. Was exploiting his feelings for her. But when it came down to it, it was more that she was... scared. Scared that he might go ahead and do it anyway.

“I think,” Ruby continued, “That he would rather know before he goes ahead with it. It's not fair on either of you if you make him hurt you without realising.”

“I'm not _making_ him do anything,” Emma snapped, and Ruby shifted back a bit.

“I know, I'm sorry, I'm not trying to put this on you,” she amended. “Just... I know that Neal hurt you. But you can't keep those walls up forever, or they'll stop you from going ahead and fighting for what you want.”

There was a moment of silence.

“I'll think about it,” Emma said, finally.

Ruby nodded. She squeezed Emma's shoulder and then stood up.

“I should go check on Victor,” she said, moving out to the veranda.

Emma pressed her palms flat against her knees and let out a breath. She felt oddly numb.

When Neal broke up with her there had been anger, and pain, and a fear that had lasted two years and built itself up into a protective shell. The thought of breaking that down – of putting herself out there and laying it all on the line for Killian to potentially trample all over – it was terrifying.

_Trust him_ , Ruby had said.

She didn't trust the angry Killian with the violent eyes who shrank from her touch and wouldn't look at her when he spoke.

But wasn't he the same boy who she'd passed notes with in maths, who'd followed her out into the rain and stolen flowers and punched Neal for her?

She twisted in her chair, and chewed her lip thoughtfully as through the screen door of the veranda she watched Ruby pull Victor into a half-hug.

Maybe it was time for her turning point too.

 

* * *

 

 

Emma felt sick.

It must have shown on her face, because barely had she arrived at her group's table than Mary Margaret leaped up in concern and moved towards her.

“What's wrong?” she demanded.

Emma shook her head, turning to Ruby, who had half-risen, David right behind her with his face pinched in concern.

“I tried to call Killian last night,” she said. “A couple of times. He didn't pick up.”

Ruby blanched. “You wanted to...?”

“Yeah,” Emma said, and sat down heavily. She had been fully prepared to take Ruby's advice. “I guess he was ignoring me.”

It had been... humiliating. Working herself up to call him and tell him, only to reach his message bank. And then calling again, for the same result. And again, like she was desperate, and that was when panic set in and she began to think that she was a fool and maybe she had misjudged this situation, maybe this had been a terrible idea after all-

“Or his phone was off,” Ruby informed her. “Or he wasn't home, it could have been any number of things! Come on, Emma, I know you're worried, but don't-”

“Well, it's too late now!” Emma threw her hands up. “He's probably doing it as we speak.”

“Doing what?” David cut in with a frown. “What's going on, what's happening?”

“Nothing, it's fine, it doesn't matter,” Emma groaned, burying her face in her hands. “I'm just... worried Killian won't be here to present the English assignment.”

“Why wouldn't he be here?” Mary Margaret asked. She turned to Ruby. “What's going on with you two? What don't David and I know?”

Emma raised her head. She exchanged glances with Ruby, who was shaking her head minutely. But God. By this point, she was just sick of _hiding_ things.

“Killian and Regina are breaking into Gold's office to plant evidence to get him fired,” she said tiredly. “They're doing it this morning, probably as we speak. And English is in period one, so. Let's just hope he does it quickly.”

David and Mary Margaret exchanged glances, then stared at Ruby and Emma.

“You've known this how long?” David asked.

“It hardly matters now!” Emma said. “We tried to convince him to stop, he wouldn't.”

“Emma, there's still time,” Ruby said desperately. “If you go to him now-”

“No,” and David had risen now, putting a hand on Emma's shoulder. “Stay here, stay right here, Mary Margaret and I will take care of this.”

Her head snapped around in alarm. “What do you mean, take care of this?”

“We have to tell Ms Mills,” Mary Margaret said. “Surely you see that?”

“Tell her? You mean dob them in?” Emma jumped up. “You can't!”

“Emma, they're trying to make a man lose his job,” David said. “That's... it's wrong, we can't just let them go ahead with it! I mean, I'm no fan of Mr Gold, but he doesn't deserve _that_.”

She grabbed his arm. “David. Killian will be _expelled_ if you do this, you don't know the whole story-”

“You're not thinking clearly,” he said, gently detaching her hand and guiding her to sit back down on the bench. He had that look on his face, Mary Margaret did too, the soft concern that Emma occasionally appreciated but could also find quite patronising. “Just let us handle this, okay?”

Mary Margaret was already halfway across the playground, and he jogged to follow her, both pointedly heading in the direction of the main office.

Ruby waved a hand frantically at Emma. “Go! Go! I'll try to stop them!” She ran after their two friends, and Emma froze for a moment.

The bell was going to go in three minutes. They had been asked to miss morning homeroom today, to head straight to English. If they weren't there by the time they were called to present, it would mean immediate failure.

That passing thought lasted for about two seconds before she shoved it away and sprinted for Mr Gold's office.

It seemed to take forever to cross the playground, dodge the stream of latecomers who had just gotten off the bus, and traverse the community garden. She had never been so relieved to see the science labs in her life.

The door to Gold's office was closed, but when she turned the handle she found it unlocked, and entered.

Killian jumped a mile when he heard her come in and shut the door behind her.

“What the bloody hell are you doing here?!” he demanded. He was on his knees, elbow-deep in Gold's filing cabinet.

“You need to leave,” she said, “ _Right now_. David and Mary Margaret found out and they've gone to tell Ms Mills-”

“You told them?” he asked, sounding surprised more than angry.

Emma felt momentarily guilty. Then she just felt annoyed. “Yes, I told them! I didn't think they'd go to the principal! God, it's not like we didn't warn you enough times not to do this-”

“What the hell, Emma! I trusted you!”

“No, _I_ trusted you-” she near-screamed, then cut herself off, rubbing her temples. This was not the time or the place. “Look, just get out of here before they come in and find you.”

He was staring at her, an odd look on his face. Then he shook his head. “No. I'm not done. You need to go, you'll get in trouble.”

“What part of 'they are coming' did you not understand?” She stepped further into the room, grabbed the back of his jumper and pulled hard enough that he fell back and had to throw his hand out to brace himself. “What are you going to do, jump out the window and break your other arm?! For God's sake, Killian! They already know about the plan, it's all gone to shit, now _leave_!”

“I'm not leaving,” he ground out through gritted teeth. “It could still work. It's not Cora Mills we have to convince, it's members of the Board.” He stood up, kicked the filing cabinet shut and turned to Gold's computer. “I'm almost done, Emma, I'll be fine. But you need to _go_.”

The bell rang, harsh and shrill, echoing around the room with an ominous finality.

“Go to English or you'll fail,” Killian said, his voice cold and flat.

Emma shook her head. “No,” she said, and folded her arms. Her heart was pounding so fast she couldn't tell where one beat ended and the next began. _Oh God. Oh God, I'm going to do it_.

“Killian,” she said. He was bent over the computer, typing frantically, but something in her voice made him pause. He looked over his shoulder at her.

“I am not going,” she continued, voice quiet. “I am not leaving unless you leave.”

“Emma, don't do this to me,” he said, voice pleading now, and she shook her head.

“No, I am doing this to you! God, Killian, I was _so mad_ at you last night. I still am. You know why? Because you can't just do that to someone. You can't just come into their life and... and give them flowers and win them over and make them _like_ you. You can't do that to me and then just go ahead and throw it all away over _Mr Gold_! Because...” and there were tears welling in her eyes now, unbidden. She swiped them away angrily. “That's _exactly_ what Neal did.”

The colour drained from his face as he turned towards her fully, computer forgotten.

She couldn't move. Could do nothing but stand and wait to see what he would do. She couldn't even see his face clearly, read his expression, because her eyes were blurred over with tears.

“Emma,” he said, and took a step towards her.

And then the office door slammed open.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not super happy with this chapter. Lots of writer's block xP Ah well! Hope you enjoyed it :)


	17. Follow

 “What's going on in here?!”

Mr Gold's voice was angrier than Emma had ever heard him.

Before she could even register what was going on, the room was suddenly full of people. Cora, face cold and unfathomable. Regina slinking in behind her, lips pressed in a sullen frown. David and Mary Margaret and Ruby, swarming Emma with concerned, outstretched hands. Dr Hopper rushing to get between Gold and Killian.

“Let's not do anything rash,” Archie said, and Gold gave a loud, snickering laugh.

“Anything rash? Like conspiring to get me fired?” His cane swung to point in Killian's direction. “You are _gone_ , Jones. I believe that was the final straw.”

Emma could barely focus. Too much was going on at once – Ruby whispering in her ear, “I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I couldn't stop them.”

David and Mary Margaret speaking over her - “Don't worry, we explained the situation, youwon't get in trouble.”

Regina shooting her death glares from across the room, mouthing something along the lines of 'I am going to _kill you_.'

But all she could see was Killian, oddly silent. Despite what had happened, he didn't look defeated, barely even looked angry – just shocked. His eyes were fixed vacantly in Emma's direction, but not quite looking at her, and he snapped back to attention when Archie grabbed his shoulder.

“Everybody,” Cora announced, her voice cutting loud and clear through the ruckus and causing them all to fall silent. “Come to my office _immediately_.”

“We have an assessment task,” Ruby spoke up.

Cora shot her a look that could curdle milk. “Perhaps Regina and Killian should have thought of that _before_ they decided to break into a teacher's office. You three go to class,” she added, gesturing at Mary Margaret, David and Ruby. And then at Emma, “You come with us.”

“She's not involved,” Mary Margaret spoke up, but Cora glared at her so intensely that the girl actually shrank back a little.

“I didn't ask you,” she said, and stalked out of the office. Mr Gold was hot on her heels.

“Go,” Emma said dully. “I'll be fine.”

“Emma!” Mary Margaret's voice was pleading – what she was pleading _for_ , Emma wasn't sure. She couldn't quite bring herself to be angry with her friends. Stupid their actions may have been, but not malicious.

Her three friends left reluctantly, leaving her standing there like a fool. She clasped her hands together, then released them and bunched her skirt in her fists.

Archie, stood in the middle of the room, took a deep breath and ran his hands over his face. Regina and Killian exchanged glances. While Regina still looked annoyed, both of them seemed oddly sheepish in the presence of their counsellor.

“Why?” Archie asked after a moment.

“He deserved it,” Killian mumbled.

Archie shook his head. “I don't know if I can get you out of this,” he said, sounding disappointed not just in them but in himself. Emma could see him struggling to process what had happened, kicking himself and wondering how he could have missed them plotting this under his very nose. He took a deep breath and straightened up. “Come on. Let's go talk to Ms Mills.”

 

* * *

 

In the end, it was all Archie, really.

He had been entirely silent the whole walk to the main office. When they entered, Cora and Mr Gold were standing waiting, arms folded and staring at the door with equally murderous expressions. Before they could say a word, Archie strode in, planted his hands on his hips, and said: “I want to know why.”

“He hates me,” Mr Gold spat. “No other reason needed. This whole affair was entirely juvenile, an unacceptable act of disrespect for authority-”

“I want to know _why_ ,” Archie repeated. He looked only slightly cowed by Gold, who for someone reasonably short had a rather intimidating presence, but his voice was firm. “I want to know why my patient took a sudden downhill turn after _your wife_ was fired from this school. I want to know why he hates you enough to try and get you fired. That's not _normal,_ Rumpel.”

A tense silence.

Emma found her attention oddly drawn to Cora and Regina. She had never particularly seen them interact before; not beyond the occasional speech at Open Day or presenting of a certificate at Awards Night. Their dynamic was curious – Cora kept looking speculatively between her daughter and Mr Gold, while Regina fixed her mother with an almost defiant stare.

As it was, Regina was the one to speak first.

“I hardly see the need for all the fuss,” she snapped, turning to Cora. “I thought you wanted him fired anyway! He never would have gotten a job here at all if it wasn't for him blackmailing people on the Board!”

“Whether I wanted him gone or not is irrelevant,” Cora snapped, “That's up to _me_ , not you. Just because you're my daughter, Regina, doesn't mean you can go around breaking rules as you please.”

Regina threw her hands up. “I'm trying to _help_ you, mother! I'm taking _your_ side on this.”

“Taking sides?” Archie cut in, looking as confused as Emma felt. “What's this whole fight about? Killian-”

“This whole thing was never just about Killian and Gold,” Regina spat. Cora was shooting her furious glances, but she ignored them. Emma had never seen her look so angry, not even at Mary Margaret. “I'm sick of this whole affair! Mr Gold was cheating on his wife with my mother!”

“No!” Cora shouted, at the same time as Mr Gold half-rose, snapping, “We were _not_.”

And that was when a large and confusing fight broke out, everyone talking at once.

Emma had no idea what was going on. Too many people were shouting at the same time, the four of them yelling at each other while Archie vainly tried to make head or tails of what was happening.

A rap on the door had them all falling silent.

“Excuse me,” Belle said, as she entered the room. She looked confused, a bit troubled – but also determined.

Mr Gold had gone pale at the sight of her. For the first time Emma had ever seen him, he did not seem entirely in control.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded.

“Mary Margaret told me what was going on when she came to class,” Belle said, and folded her arms. “Rumpel, what's this about?”

“Miss French,” Cora cut in, irritated. “This does not concern you.”

“Let her know,” Regina snapped out. Her voice was oddly choked, and Emma was surprised to find that the other girl seemed close to tears. “If Gold _loves_ her so much, she deserves to.”

“You have no idea what you're talking about,” Mr Gold said furiously.

“You mean you weren't sleeping with my mother?”

“We have discussed this,” Cora said stiffly. “It was a long time ago. Before you were even born. There was no need for you to try and exact revenge on my behalf.” She shot Gold a poisonous look. “I assure you, I would have gotten it on my own in due course.”

“I didn't just do it on _your_ behalf,” Regina cried. “I did it for _me_. He ruined our family, he ruined my trust for you. _He's_ the reason you had to send Daniel away.”

“It takes two to tango, dearie,” Gold muttered, with a dark look in Cora's direction.

“Daniel's _parents_ were the reason I had to send him away,” Cora informed Regina. “We talked about this already. When Gold moved into town they somehow found out about our... past relationship. For the sake of your father, of his company's reputation, they had to go.”

“But cutting off all contact with him?” Regina argued. “He was my best friend!”

“I couldn't risk you finding out!”

“Well, that worked out a treat, I found out _anyway_!”

“Yes,” Gold cut in. “Thanks to Milah!”

Emma felt as though she was witnessing something overly personal, but everyone seemed to have forgotten she was even in the room. Killian, who had been watching in fuming silence, tensed at the mention of Gold's wife.

Belle stepped forward and put a hand on Gold's shoulder. He flinched.

“What happened?” she asked.

“Why don't you ask him,” Gold replied coldly, with a scornful glance in Killian's direction.

“I don't know what he's told you,” Killian growled. “But whatever it was, it was a pack of lies. Milah told me exactly what was going on with you. The fights, the blackmail. And that you were cheating on her with Ms Mills – not fifteen years ago, right then, right _now_.”

“She was mistaken,” Cora said, and Regina gave a derisive snort. Cora turned to her. Her usual poise faltered for a moment. “She _was_ ,” she repeated. “And she had no business talking about the personal relationships of fellow staff members to a student!”

“Wait,” Archie cut in. He looked deeply concerned as he put a hand on Killian's shoulder and tugged the boy around to face him. “While Milah was your counsellor she told you she thought Gold was cheating on her?”

“She told me a lot of things,” Killian replied stiffly. “We were friends.”

Belle and Archie exchanged a glance that Emma couldn't quite work out. Mr Gold was still seething, Regina and Killian still looking upset.

“Good of you to spread it around,” Mr Gold sneered.

“I didn't _spread it around_ ,” Killian snapped back. “I told Regina because it involved her _mum_! Christ!”

“And then Regina confronted Cora about it,” Archie said, his eyes widening as it seemed he finally gathered what was going on. “So Cora and Gold got rid of Milah.”

Emma didn't know the details of what had gone on between Regina and Dr Hopper in their counselling sessions. Didn't, she realised now, know much at all about the other girl. But from how absolutely miserable she looked, closed off and standing stiffly by Cora's side, her arms folded defensively against her own mother – it was obvious that relations between them had been strained for a very long time.

And things were falling into place now – so Milah had let slip her suspicions about her husband's infidelity. Of course Killian had told Regina. Emma wasn't sure how she herself would react if she found out one of her adoptive parents was cheating on the other, but it was evident that Regina hadn't taken it well – especially since it tied into what had happened with Daniel.

God, it was a complete _mess_.

Belle certainly seemed to agree – she had a look of dawning horror and pity on her face, one hand still clasped to Mr Gold's shoulder.

“Milah was never cheating on you,” Killian spat at Gold. “Get that through your head. _You're_ the one who drove her away. The same way you drove away your own son!”

Gold's face flushed angrily. He shook off Belle and took a step towards Killian. Archie started forward in alarm, but Gold seemed to quickly realise there was little he could do except snap back.

“Leave Neal out of this,” he said warningly.

“Why should I? I'm as good as expelled anyway,” Killian retorted. “You know what, it was bloody worth it just for Miss French to find out that you're a lying, cheating asshole who turned on your own wife rather than face up to the fact that _you're_ the one who hurts people!” Before he had just sounded angry, but now emotion was rising up in his voice, and any residual anger Emma had had about their insisting on going through with the plan faded away. She felt worse than useless standing there spectating, but it wasn't her place to jump in, though. Not yet, anyway.

“Killian,” Belle said softly. “There is a lot you don't know about Mr Gold. In any case, breaking into his office, trying to get him fired – whatever happened, you and Regina handled this the wrong way. If you had concerns, you should have come to Archie, or myself, or any of the other teachers who you trust.”

And there it was. _Trust_.

The root of all this trouble. Milah and Gold, Cora and Regina – a whole mix-up of miscommunication and lies and hasty judgements that just ended up tearing every possible relationship apart.

Emma could see the exact moment both Regina and Killian closed off completely, seeming resigned to the fact that the adults just weren't going to get it. Killian folded his arms across his chest and took a step back, but walked smack-bang into Archie, who grabbed him by the shoulders.

“Ms Mills,” the counsellor said, an odd note in his voice, “What's going to happen now?”

Cora raised her head slowly. She had always seemed somehow impregnable to Emma, a cold, heartless mannequin devoid of feeling. But now – she looked tired, and it was disconcerting.

Mr Gold cut in before she could speak, raising a finger to point at Killian. “I want him _gone_.”

Cora pressed her lips together. “Killian, your track record lately has been-”

“That's not _fair_ ,” Emma burst out, unable to remain silent any longer. Everyone in the room turned to look at her, seeming almost surprised that she was still there.

“That's not fair,” she repeated, more quietly. “He's not.... if Killian has to go, Mr Gold should too! This wasn't a one-way thing.”

“Emma's right,” Belle said, and pulled at Gold's arm until he turned to look at her. “Rumpel – _Cora_ – surely you guys can see that this is much bigger than two students behaving out of line.”

Gold was breathing heavily by now. Cora was just staring at Regina, who in turn was looking away, eyes red rimmed and mouth set in a grim line.

Archie nodded vigorously. “This should never have been about them! I don't know what happened between you two in the past, but these are just _kids_! They should never have been mixed up in this!”

“They wouldn't have been,” Gold said through gritted teeth, “If it wasn't for _Milah_!”

Killian lurched forward furiously, but Archie yanked him back.

“He's right,” Archie said. “He's _right_ , Killian, I know it's not what you want to hear. But she was your counsellor, not your friend!”

Killian shoved Archie back and wrapped his arms around himself.

“Her intentions may have been in the right place,” Archie continued. “And God knows she made far more progress with you than I did, but there has to be a line. She should have been focusing on _your_ problems, not dragging you into hers. She _definitely_ shouldn't have been telling you about her personal life, her marriage, especially if it concerned one of your teachers. That sort of relationship... it's not healthy, and it's definitely not supposed to happen between a teacher and a student. It was unfair of her to put you in that position with Regina and Cora. Can you see that?”

Killian didn't reply. His jaw was clenched tightly shut, so tense Emma could see him trembling. She stepped forward, past Archie, and took him by the arm. His whole body jerked at the touch, but he didn't pull away.

“Rumpel,” Belle pleaded. “You can't honestly still blame Killian for what happened. They're just _kids_.”

The anger on Gold's face flickered slightly, turning almost pained. Belle pulled him a few paces aside. “I know it's hard,” she began, then trailed off into a hushed conversation that Emma couldn't quite make out.

“He needed to go,” Regina's voice rose suddenly, stiff and almost awkward. Emma turned to find the other girl staring at a point just past her mother's head. Cora had been oddly silent through the entire exchange, but stirred at her daughter's voice.

“For the last three years,” Regina continued, “I have been forced to come to school every day and look at the man who my mother cheated on my father with! I don't care if it was fifteen years ago. I needed to get rid of him. How... how I am supposed to look at you, to respect you, when I see that every day?”

Cora didn't speak, and Regina looked away with a sigh, running her hands over her face.

“I want to transfer to Storybrooke High,” she said, voice tight.

Cora frowned. “We can discuss this at home,” she replied, and Regina shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut.

“That's what you always say,” Emma heard her murmur.

Mr Gold cleared his throat suddenly. It seemed he had finished his discussions with Belle, who had a small smile on her face and one hand supportively pressed against his back.

“Miss French has convinced me,” Gold uttered, “That given the circumstances of this... unpleasant affair... expulsion would only cause more unnecessary drama.”

“You're willing to put this all behind you?” Archie asked, hopefully, and Gold gave a stiff nod.

“On the condition that Killian is transferred out of my maths class,” he added. “And I suggest that we never speak of all this again.”

“Ms Mills?” Archie asked, turning to her.

“My daughter and I have a lot to discuss,” Cora said. “Given the extenuating circumstances, however, I am inclined to let this one pass.”

Emma could scarcely believe that she was hearing. She would never have believed that Cora would let them off so lightly. When she stared at the principal, however, the woman's eyes remained fixed on Regina, and while outwardly she was still standing tall and poised, Emma could detect an underlying thoughtfulness and almost sadness.

“However,” Cora continued more firmly, “This whole business must _end._ Here and now, never to be brought up again. That goes for both Killian and Gold.”

Emma looked at Killian. He had barely acknowledged her presence the whole time, though she was still holding onto him. His teeth were clenched together tightly, and he looked at Gold with a glare that the other man returned.

“Shake it out,” Cora ordered.

Gold grudgingly raised a hand, but Killian made no move to take it. Emma shook his arm, and whispered, “ _Do it_. This is your chance to walk out of this!”

He finally looked at her, a brief, fleeting brush of eye contact before he reached out and shook Gold's hand for approximately one second before drawing back and wiping his palm against his trousers.

“Good,” Cora snapped. “Now everyone, get back to class. We've wasted enough time on this. Miss French, shouldn't you be marking an assessment task?”

“Ms Blue stepped in for me,” she replied, then added, “Emma, Killian – don't worry, you haven't been called up yet. You can still do the speech. If Ms Blue objects I'll write you a note.”

“Thanks Miss,” Emma said, and then when no one else made to move or speak, she rather awkwardly headed for the door. Everyone promptly followed, exiting into the main office where they began to part ways in the hallway.

The three students were left to walk to class together, and Emma promptly found herself trapped in a slightly strained silence between Killian and Regina.

“Regina,” she said finally.

“What do you want?” the other snapped, not looking at her. She seemed almost embarrassed, and Emma suddenly realised that it must have been humiliating, having one of her mortal enemies bearing witness to such an intense personal drama.

“I think we should drop this,” Emma said.

“A little specificity would be appreciated. What exactly do you mean by 'this'?”

“This fight between you and me, between you and Mary Margaret,” Emma replied. “I get it, okay? She didn't just send Daniel away, she deepened the rift between you and your mother as well. And that sucks. But it's like Belle said – you were _kids_. And this whole thing, it's not your fault or Mary Margaret's fault or Killian's fault. It was... it was a bunch of parents who messed things up with each other, and then somehow managed to drag their kids into their problems.” She swallowed, hard. “God knows I've had my share of parents messing things up with me. The last thing we need to do is turn on each other.”

Regina stopped walking and looked at her, and Emma looked back, lifting her chin and holding eye contact. Finally Regina let out a breath and turned away, pinching the bridge of her nose delicately.

“I shall take it into consideration,” she said, and Emma rolled her eyes.

“I suppose that's better than nothing,” she muttered.

Regina marched off up ahead, leaving Emma and Killian to stroll behind her.

After the roller coaster of drama that had been the last hour, Emma had absolutely no idea where she stood with him.

“Are you okay?” she said finally.

Killian gave her another quick, brief glance, then his lips twitched into a wry smile. “I've not been expelled. I think that warrants an 'okay'. As for you, Swan... you seem to have a second magic power of convincing people to drop their grudges. Have you considered a career as a lawyer?”

“God, no,” she replied with a laugh. “I don't think I could stand it.”

They continued on towards their classroom. Killian didn't speak again, and Emma didn't attempt to bring up a conversation; she took the opportunity to study him closely. She had no idea what he was thinking, which concerned her, but given the reluctance that he had shaken Gold's hand with, she still wasn't convinced that he wasn't planning to come back later and attempt to exact revenge on him again. If he was indeed planning to move on, to put things behind him, he wasn't doing a very convincing job of it.

She opened her mouth, deciding to just ask him outright – perhaps segue back into what they'd been talking about before the others had interrupted, painful though it would be – but they had reached the English room by now, and barely had they entered than Ms Blue, sitting at the teacher's desk, was calling out their names.

“Emma Swan and Killian Jones!"

“Here, sorry we're late,” Emma said, hurrying in through the door. Ms Blue looked unamused, but just waved for them to come up to the front quickly.

Emma could not have thought of a worse time for them to present the assignment. It had been the last thing on her mind the entire morning. She couldn't remember anything about their presentation, her speech cards were crumpled in her pocket, and Killian still looked ten seconds away from a stress-related breakdown.

But it was far easier to get it over and done with now than attempt to appeal it – which would have to go through Cora anyway – so they got up on the raised wooden presentation area, Emma stopping to grab their collage along the way and pin it up on the board behind them.

She hadn't been lying when she told Killian she was okay with public speaking, but now, looking out at the sea of students' faces, she couldn't help but feel nervous. Mary Margaret and David were watching her with wide eyes, obviously confused as to why they were back in class. Ruby and Victor were looking at Killian, standing on the other side of the board, while Regina, slouched low in her seat, wasn't even pretending to pay attention, picking at the spiral-bound spine of her planner and obviously miles away.

“Whenever you're ready,” Ms Blue said, finger on the stopwatch.

Emma glanced across at Killian. He was staring at his speech cards. She took a deep breath and began.

“The root of any story is, and always will be, choice. Choices not only reflect the deeper aspects and motivations of a character, but result in consequences which in turn prompt the reader to judge the ethicality and wisdom of the decisions taken, leading to an exploration of concepts and moral messages that remain relevant throughout changing contexts.”

She turned to Killian. He was silent, and for a breathless moment she thought he was going to freeze up and ruin the whole thing. But he opened his mouth, and looked up at the class, and slowly launched into the speech they had prepared.

It kicked Emma back into the zone, and everything they had worked on for the last few weeks came flooding back to her, raising her confidence.

The presentation wasn't perfect.

They both spoke a little too fast. Emma stumbled over a quote, and Killian tripped over Rosencrantz and Guildenstern's names, and they realised halfway through that they were each standing on the wrong side of the collage and had to reach across it to point at their relevant parts.

But they reached the conclusion with no major mishaps and well within the time limit, and it was as Emma was raising her last speech card that she looked across at Killian, opened and shut her mouth a few times, and then made a snap decision.

“Shakespeare wrote Hamlet, as he did all other of his plays, to teach us a lesson,” she said.

Killian's head whipped around to her, eyes narrowed. She could practically hear him mentally shouting to her, _what are you doing? That's not in the speech_!

“And first and foremost, that lesson is about making choices,” she continued. Though she remained facing the class, her eyes were turned towards Killian, addressing him. “Now, in Hamlet's case, the whole country was at stake, and this obviously factored into the decisions he made. But it is always the personal side of Shakespeare, rather than the political, which allows it to remain relevant today. The relationships that mirror those we find ourselves in, and let us forge connections to these iconic characters and stories.

“Hamlet made the choice to push people away from him. For a character whose fatal flaw was procrastination and overthinking, many of his decisions come across as... reckless. His rejection of Ophelia. Of Gertrude. Even of Horatio, who warns him against taking part in the final fencing match. He didn't have to do these things. I guess...” She trailed off, quickly adjusted her language to make it more formal. “It could be argued that his decisions stemmed from the betrayal of Claudius, and of Gertrude. And he couldn't let it go. If he had... if he'd given his friends and family a chance, if he'd let them help him, things might have turned out very differently. Instead – and this being the warning of the story – the play ends in tragedy.”

She lifted her chin. “The choices in Hamlet are intrinsically tied into trust. By the time Hamlet makes his decision on the pirate ship, his turning point, it's already too late. But before that, if he could have let things go. If he hadn't turned back to Denmark, to his revenge, but waited – even to act more politically, to gather allies or form a solid plan – not only would lives have been spared, but Hamlet, personally, wouldn't have crashed and burned. Act five hurts _everybody_.”

Ms Blue dinged the bell on her desk that meant there were only 30 seconds left before they went over the time limit.

Killian was staring openly at Emma, speech cards hanging limply by his side. His eyes were wide, almost searching.

“Hamlet is still relevant today,” Emma said. “I can personally testify to this. Learn from his choices. Don't make the same mistakes. Maybe you won't end up killing half a dozen people, but personal consequences can be just as devastating. Thank you for your time.”

Mary Margaret was the first to clap, the rest of the class quickly following. As they gave their obligatory applause and Ms Blue began scribbling furious marking notes, the bell rang for the end of class. Emma let out a stream of breath, feeling drained.

She stepped off the stage and moved to go back to her desk, but felt fingers grasp at her sleeve and turned to see Killian. He looked wrecked, as though her words had been the last straw in the chaos that had piled up since that morning.

“Emma,” he said.

“Sorry about ad-libbing at the end there,” she replied. “I think-”

“It's fine,” he interrupted. “It was... fine.”

An awkward pause.

“If you couldn't tell,” Emma said with a tentative grin, “I've asked my pirates not to take me back to Denmark.”

“Where are you going then?”

She shrugged. “Nowhere in particular. Exploring, I think.”

He looked down at the floor, and Emma reached for him. She meant to grab his wrist, but somehow ended up with a grip on his hand instead.

“Hey,” she said, and he glanced up at her. She smiled. “You could join me. Those ships are pretty damn big. As long as you don't mind sleeping in a hammock.”

His lips twitched.

“I mean,” she continued, “If you want to. If the pull of your Claudius isn't too strong. But, you know... I think Fortinbras might be able to take care of Claudius for you. Like I said. You can let it go.”

“I'd like that,” he said softly, hoarsely.

She raised a finger. “No take backs though! Once you get on the ship that's it. We won't see land for days.”

He scoffed out a laugh. “Bloody hell, love, I'll get on your damn pirate ship, okay? You've convinced me.”

“Good,” she said, and hugged him, more out of impulse than anything else. After a moment his arm came up around her back and he squeezed her tightly. She felt his face press into her hair, and couldn't tell if it was him who was trembling or her.

Someone cleared their throat loudly, and they pulled back, Emma turning to see Victor, Ruby, Mary Margaret and David standing watching them. The former two had wide grins on their faces, the others looked rather more cautious.

“I take it you're not expelled then?” Victor asked, and Killian shook his head.

Ruby whooped, pumping a fist in the air, and then both she and Victor nearly bowled Killian over with hugs.

“Are things... okay?” Mary Margaret asked quietly as they watched, and Emma turned to her.

“Yes,” she said.

Mary Margaret glanced between them dubiously. “I thought...”

“I think,” David broke in, “That you and I are late for our next class.” He took his girlfriend by the arm and led her away, but glanced over his shoulder halfway to the door and looked intently between Emma and Killian. He didn't seem too displeased with what he found.

When Emma turned back around, Ruby and Victor had vanished, and Killian was standing watching her with an odd look on his face.

“I'm sorry,” he said, before she could speak. “I was a right ass to you last night. I guess I was... blind.”

“Hey,” she laid a hand on his arm. “It wasn't entirely your fault. Dr Hopper was right. This wasn't something you asked to be involved in.”

“I still hurt you. I didn't see...” he paused, looking almost uncertain. Like he wasn't sure whether he was interpreting what she'd blurted out back in the office correctly. As if he almost didn't dare to believe that he might be.

It reminded her endearingly of herself.

“But you see now,” she said. “Right?”

“Right,” he said, and smiled genuinely for the first time that day.

And if their hands maybe managed to find one another again as they walked out of class, Emma certainly did not mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter shall be the last! I hope everyone has enjoyed the story to this point. Further thanks and acknowledgements to come.
> 
> SEQUEL ANNOUNCEMENT: More of a half-sequel, really.
> 
> I have a vague ambition in the direction of a Victor and Ruby side story that would partially take place during this one, and then continue on to show some of the events after this finishes. There’d likely be heavy background CS and show what was happening with Killian during moments he was “offscreen” here as well as what was going on with Regina, Mr Gold and Belle.


	18. Heart

 Emma had never realised that so many people from school knew about the Rabbit Hole. As she pushed her way through the crowds milling in the doorway, looking around the packed space for Killian, she recognised at least a dozen people from her year group and even more year 12s.

“Emma!” someone called out, and she looked over to see David and Mary Margaret sitting in a booth nearby. She wandered over to them.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, surprised – while not a club, per say, this still wasn't what she'd consider their sort of place.

David grinned. “Ruby told us about this and we decided to check it out. Why are _you_ here? I thought you were meant to be out with Killian?”

“I am,” she replied. “Out _here_.”

“Oh,” Mary Margaret said. She looked around and grimaced.

“I know,” Emma said with a groan. “Perhaps we shouldn't have decided to have a first date here on the last day of school. It's kinda ruined the atmosphere a bit.”

“So it's officially a first date then?” Mary Margaret asked, and Emma nodded, bracing herself for some sort of lecture – even after explaining the entire situation, her friend had kept her reservations – but Mary Margaret just sighed and gave her a small smile.

“Have fun with it, then. Maybe go somewhere quieter.”

“Here's fine,” Emma replied, not particularly wanting to let them know that with Killian's money still tight, the only cheaper option was McDonalds.

Ruby wandered over to the table, balancing a tray of drinks. “Emma! What are you doing? Is your date with Killian here?”

“Yep,” Emma replied, and Ruby sighed.

“I'll make sure these two don't creepily watch you guys all night,” she assured Emma, and David and Mary Margaret let out splutters of indignation. Emma laughed. At that moment she spied Killian entering, and walked across the room to meet him halfway at an empty booth.

“Hi,” she said.

“Hi,” he replied, and there was a slightly awkward moment where they made to hug but both leaned in the wrong direction before sitting down.

Before this point, Emma had been totally fine, but now she felt oddly nervous. Good nervous, though, butterfly-nervous. It hadn't really struck her until now that this was a _date_. That they were... well, _together_ , she supposed.

It had been two weeks since their English presentation. Two weeks since they started this tentative whatever-it-was, both of them still a little too cautious to do much more than hang out for the sole purpose of hanging out, with the assessment now out of the way. Killian and Victor alternated lunchtimes between Emma's group and their own, Regina seemingly having mellowed in her attitude towards Mary Margaret a little.

But now... this was all a bit more official than she was used to. Her first date with Neal had been the same way, a little awkward, a little unsure, and okay, Neal was the last thing she really wanted to be thinking about right now.

“...yay, holidays,” she said finally, breaking the silence, and Killian scoffed out a laugh.

“I suppose that's why this place is crowded as hell,” he said, and looked around, eyes zeroing in on her friends sitting a little way away. “They're not _chaperoning,_ are they?” he asked, aghast, and Emma shook her head.

“Nah, believe it or not they are here purely by coincidence. Besides, your group are here too,” she pointed out, and Killian twisted in his seat to look at Regina and a few of the others sitting at a table nearby.

“Well,” he said then. “This is... cosy.” He sounded a bit frustrated, almost disappointed in himself, and Emma reached out across the table and pressed his arm.

“It's fine,” she said. “Fun.”

He gave her a small smile, the ice broken a little, and then reached down into his bag.

“I have something for you,” he said. “It's kind of stupid...”

He handed over an envelope and Emma took it curiously. Inside was a small card. It was the sort of cheap thing you would buy from a newsagent; an unassuming white rectangle with the words 'THANK YOU' and a generic picture of a smiling sun printed on top. When she opened it, however, she was surprised to see the entire inside covered in a detailed collage bordering a handwritten message. There were masses of small, pressed flowers glued to the page; meticulously dried, paper-thin violets, pansies, daisies. She couldn't help but smile at the small cut-out picture of a pirate ship sailing between the petals, an umbrella floating to the side, a red cowgirl hat and a Noddy cap. An apple tree.

She ran her finger over a trail of bee stickers weaving between the flowers. “Plath, right?” she asked. Bees were a recurring motif throughout Ariel.

He nodded. His head was ducked down, an almost shy smile on his face.

“And the flowers...” It took her a moment to recognise some of the others – columbines, rue, rosemary and fennel blossoms – and her eyes widened when she worked it out. “Rosemary for remembrance,” she realised with a dawning grin. “Pansies for thought. They're all Ophelia's flowers. That's...”

_Insanely thought out? Ridiculously sweet?_

“Like I said,” he murmured. “It's a bit stupid.”

“No, it's... really thought out....” she replied, and turned to the message written inside. All words died on her lips as she read it.

' _Doubt thou the stars are fire, doubt thou the sun doth move, doubt truth to be a liar, but never doubt my love_.

_Thank you for everything'_

It wasn't even the use of 'love' that shocked her – more because it was part of the quote than anything – but the reassurance behind the words.

_Never doubt._

She swallowed, hard, and looked up at him. He had his gaze turned away, seeming almost nervous.

“You don't need to thank me,” was what she finally croaked out, and his eyes darted back to hers.

“Yes,” he replied. “I do. You stopped me making what I see now would have been a terrible mistake. You made me...”

He trailed off, as though unsure how to word it, but Emma knew exactly what he meant. She felt the same way.

He had made her connect with someone again. He had made her trust. And for the first time, she wasn't scared that he was going to walk away from her the way everybody else had. He had changed for her, put aside his revenge.

_Never doubt my love._

“Then I should thank you as well,” she said, and raised a hand when he opened his mouth to protest. “Don't you dare start kicking yourself over the Mr Gold business again. You made your choice. And that took... courage. And making my choice took courage as well, but you... you helped bring that out in me. So let's just agree to end this now before we get stuck in a never-ending cycle of thanking each other, okay?”

“Okay,” he replied. “In that case, you're welcome, Swan.”

“You're welcome too, Jones.”

They grinned at each other.

“Seriously though,” Emma said, and ran her hand over the flowers, awed by their delicacy. “This card is... amazing.”

“Well, I learned how to collage from the best.”

“Hamlet and Ophelia didn't get such a happy ending, though,” she mused, and he raised an eyebrow.

“If we're going for cheesy literary analogies, we could be... actually, nah, Romeo and Juliet fails a bit as well.”

She laughed. “Ruby may or may not have thrown a Pride and Prejudice comparison at me before.”

He clasped a hand to his heart. “I am extraordinarily flattered to have been thought of as the equivalent to Mr Darcy.”

“Yeah, well, you fit the part. Extremely off-putting at first encounter.”

He adopted such a pained expression that Emma couldn't help but crack up, and a moment later he broke down laughing as well. Any and all remaining first-date awkwardness faded away as she relaxed, realising that making it official wasn't going to change anything. They were still hanging out, having fun, still friends more than anything else.

The moment was broken when someone cleared their throat next to them, and they both looked up. Emma was surprised to find a stranger standing there; a slightly dishevelled looking blonde boy about their own age, wearing an embarrassed grin.

“Sorry to interrupt,” he said. He had a British accent, Emma noticed absently. “I've wandered in off the street.”

“Um, okay,” she said, and he slapped his own forehead.

“That came out a bit strangely. I mean I came in here because I was lost, and I'm looking for directions. Is this...” He looked around, seeming a bit confused, and Killian grinned, shifting across in the booth for him to sit down.

“No worries, mate. This is an eatery. There's a bar over there, but most of us here are students.”

The boy perked up a bit. “Are you English?”

Killian nodded. “The name's Killian. That's Emma.”

“Robin,” he said, extending a hand for them each to shake. “I've just moved here on exchange and I'm staying at the university residence. I went out for a walk and can't seem to find my way back!”

“The uni's just around the corner,” Emma said. “You can't miss it. Go down the street and turn left – I think the lodgings are on that side of the campus.”

“Thanks,” he replied. “Where do you guys go to school?”

They glanced at each other. Even if he seemed legit, a thousand warnings about talking to strangers flashed through Emma's head. Robin noticed their hesitation, and laughed.

“I'm not making the best first impression, am I? I'm doing a holiday program at the uni, but finishing off high school here. If you guys go to Storybrooke High School, that's be convenient.”

“Right,” Killian replied. “We're from Queenhart; it's a grammar school on the other side of town. I know some people from Storybrooke though, I can tell them to show you around next term.”

Robin perked up. “That'd be top.”

“Actually...” Killian leaned forward across the table and pointed. Emma followed his gaze to where Regina was sitting in a booth with Sidney and Kathryn. She wasn't joining in their conversation, seeming engrossed with tapping away at her phone screen.

“That's Regina,” Killian said. “She's from our school, but next term she's transferring to Storybrooke. You should go talk to her; you'll probably both be the only new students.”

Robin smiled. “I think I shall. Thanks,” he said, and patted Killian's shoulder before rising and going over to Regina's group. They watched as he stood hovering over Regina's shoulder for a moment before she looked up. Emma couldn't hear what he was saying, but Regina's look of confusion morphed rather quickly into distaste. Robin seemed to find this very amusing, as he sat himself down and proceeded to continue talking with some rather vigorous hand gestures.

Killian snorted. “It'll be strange not having Regina around next term.”

Emma nodded. Even if they hadn't gotten along, it would be an abrupt change for her group.

“You should sit with us permanently,” she said, and Killian raised an eyebrow.

“Would your friends be alright with that?”

“Since when would that have stopped you?” she asked, and Killian gave an almost embarrassed shrug.

“It wouldn't. Except, you know. They're your friends.”

She couldn't help but smile at that. “I think they'll be just fine with it,” she said, but before he could reply, someone else came up next to their table.

“Hi,” Neal said, a touch awkwardly, and Emma stiffened.

Despite their having parted on reasonably good terms, he was still one of the last people she wanted to see. Glancing across at Killian, she was concerned to find that he'd gone rigid in his seat, a tense, wary look on his face.

“Hey,” she replied carefully.

“Sorry to interrupt you guys.” He glanced curiously between them, and with the card propped open on the table, it was fairly obvious that they were on a date. He didn't seem annoyed, though, despite his previous frantic attempts to warn Emma off. “Can we talk quickly?”

Emma bit her lip and glanced at Killian, but his face was still blank, not giving her anything to work with.

“Do you want to go outside?” she asked Neal, and he shook his head.

“No – I want to talk to Killian as well."

That prompted a reaction, Killian sitting up a bit, eyes narrowing. Neal sat down beside Emma, who carefully shifted herself along the bench to avoid touching or brushing against him.

He ran a hand over his face and sighed. “I wanted to... apologise.”

“You did already,” Emma said. “Last time we saw each other.”

He shook his head. “Not for that. I saw my dad again last weekend and he brought along Belle – Belle French? She's a teacher at your school.”

“We know,” Emma replied. “We have her for English.” She hadn't arrived at their school until year 10, after Neal had left.

Neal nodded. “Yeah. Well, I was talking with her and she... explained some things. About my mum. And about you,” this with a quick look in Killian's direction. “I guess I had some things wrong.” He scoffed out a laugh. “And I guess what we all should be taking away from all this is that getting involved in other peoples' business is just... really, really messy. So. I won't be getting involved in your business from now on.” His words were started to tangle, tripping over one another, and Emma couldn't help but laugh.

“Appreciate it,” she said. At least he was trying now.

Neal gave a sheepish grin.

Killian still hadn't spoken. Wasn't smiling either, just staring almost grimly in Neal's direction.

“Anyway,” Neal said. “Belle helped me get in touch with her.”

Killian blinked, expression faltering for a moment. “With Milah?” he asked quietly, and Neal nodded.

“Yeah. Uh. We talked about a lot of things. But I thought you'd want to know that she's fine. She has a job, teaching at a college in Manhattan.”

Killian gave a stilted nod. Emma reached across the table and touched his hand. She couldn't help the little bubble of worry at this mention of Milah – Milah who had always existed in the past tense, who she thought they had gotten over and done with. Neal bringing this up reopened the possibility of communication with her. Of all the drama resurfacing again.

But after a moment, Killian shook his head. “That's good to hear,” he said, firmly. “I'm glad of it.” His fingers laced through Emma's and squeezed slightly.

Neal seemed relieved. “Great. Well, I'll leave you two to your... thing,” he said, eyes falling on their joined hands before he slid out of the booth.

“Okay?” Emma asked softly, and Killian nodded.

“Fine,” he said. “At least... at least I know she's alright now. But that's all gone, packed away.”

She felt unexpectedly proud of him, and clasped his hand a moment longer before pulling back.

“Well. This has been a series of... interesting encounters,” she mused, and Killian groaned, running a hand over his face.

“Not exactly the date I was hoping for,” he said.

She picked up her bag and stood up, and he stared.

“Okay. And... now you're walking out. Was it really that bad?”

She laughed and grabbed his arm, tugging him up out of his seat. “Come on. Let's go somewhere where we don't know everybody in the room. Or better yet, where there _is_ no one else in the room. How about we just order a pizza and go back to your apartment?”

“Sounds good to me.”

She picked up the card and placed it carefully in her handbag. Somewhere between the table and the door their hands found either other again, and remained intertwined as they walked; down the street, on the bus, all the way to his apartment complex where he had to let go in order to fumble in his pocket for the key.

It was dark and a bit chilly in the hallway outside his front door, late enough that the area was quiet and empty, and Emma was suddenly overcome with the urge to kiss him.

It wasn't like she hadn't thought about it over the last two weeks. He hadn't brought the subject up; perhaps under the assumption that she still needed time and space – which she was grateful for, but now... now they were on a date, or had been. Doing it now would break the tension. Spark things.

“Hey,” she said, before she could overthink it. She grabbed his arm, key halfway to the door, and he looked down at her.

“What?” he asked.

She smiled, leaning up and forward. He caught on quickly, looking confused for a second, then delighted, reaching up to weave a hand in her hair and pull her closer-

There came a sudden rattle from the door next to them, and then it was opening, light spilling out into the dark hallway. They both jumped in surprise, taking a few steps back.

“Killian?” A man asked, emerging from inside the apartment.

_Burglar!_ Was Emma's first, insane thought, which she quickly banished at the familiarity of the man's tone. _His father_ , was her next, but a quick glance in Killian's direction revealed nothing but absolute shock.

“Liam?” he asked, voice practically a croak, and suddenly the man was striding forward to grab him in a tight hug.

Emma stepped back to watch, relief crashing over her in waves. _He's back. He's alive, he's fine, he's back._ As the days had passed with Killian making no mention of his brother, she'd been starting to grow very concerned – especially since she'd been getting the impression that Archie and Cora were still trying to get in touch with his parents.

But now... she couldn't even be annoyed about their kiss being ruined. He was _back_.

They'd been hugging for a good few minutes when Liam finally pulled back, his hands still resting on Killian's shoulders.

“It's good to see you,” he said, and Killian nodded vigorously.

“And you! I mean, God, I... _why didn't you tell me you were coming?”_ This with some measure of indignation, and Liam laughed loudly.

“Sorry, little brother – I tried! I got the first flight here that I could, but I've been calling the home phone – you guys need to invest in an answering machine – and dad's cell since I got out. No one picked up! I arrived here a few hours ago and no one was home. Luckily I remembered you guys keep your spare key under the doormat. Very creative. Don't be surprised when someone robs you one day.”

Killian had been grinning with almost hysterical relief, but the mention of their father had him sobering up, and Liam caught on quickly.

“What is it, what's wrong?”

“Long story,” he sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Dad's... not currently present and may not be for the foreseeable future.”

The frown Liam gave at that made Emma's heart ache. It was sad and angry more than surprised, which spoke volumes. He clapped a hand around Killian's shoulders and started to pull him towards the apartment.

“Let's talk about this inside,” he began, when Killian twisted around and beckoned to Emma.

“Hey- I should introduce you two first,” he said, and Liam glanced around.

“I didn't see you standing there!” he said, and Emma smiled, stepping forward.

“It's fine.” She held out a hand, and he grasped it warmly. He was a tall man, had Killian's same dark hair and blue eyes, and had to have been a half-dozen years older than them, if not more. There was something very friendly about him, something very kind. She liked him instantly.

“Emma, this is Liam, as you know,” Killian said. “Liam, this is Emma, my...” He trailed off, glancing at her as if for permission. She nodded.

“Girlfriend,” he finished.

Liam's eyebrows rose. “A pleasure to meet you,” he said, and Emma nodded.

They entered the apartment, whereupon Liam – who had been sleeping before hearing them outside – promptly realised he was only wearing a t-shirt and boxers and hurried off to put some pants on, leaving Emma and Killian standing in the main room in a slightly shellshocked silence.

“So,” Emma said. “He's back.”

“Yep,” Killian replied. He was still smiling. “So. Girlfriend,” he repeated. “That's... okay now?”

“We did just go on a date,” Emma said.

“I suppose we did. That's a thing that happened.”

She opened her mouth, then closed it again. The last person she had said ' _I love you'_ to was Neal, but even then she'd always found it a bit stilted, a bit awkward – it was such an overused phrase. Nice in its own way, of course, but she'd heard it a hundred times from foster parents who used it as an empty platitude, an obligatory phrase to be uttered before bed, a sentiment that only lasted as long as they kept her. It had lost meaning for her.

She thought maybe one day she might be able to say it to Killian and not have it feel forced, uncomfortable, _expected_. But today was not that day.

Instead, she reached out and took him by the hands, fingers gentle around the rough bandage of the cast.

The last time they had kissed was in this room. The apartment was still dim, and quiet, and a bit draughty – but now it wasn't empty. Now the permeating loneliness was gone, and Killian's hands were warm in hers, and she leaned up and pressed her lips to his.

Today was not that day, but that was okay. They would get there.

They had made their choices and their journey was only just beginning.

**\- end -**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thus we finish! Thank you so much to everyone who has read, commented, and left kudos. I'm so glad you enjoyed the story and I appreciate you taking the time to leave feedback :)
> 
> I'm taking CS prompts on ****[my tumblr](http://eight-0f-hearts.tumblr.com/) if anyone has any ideas for oneshots/short stories!


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